


Armistice Day

by brown_recluse



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bottom Tony Stark, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Character Development, Civil War Fix-It, Eventual Smut, M/M, MCU Canon Compliant Up To Spiderman: Homecoming, No Fluff, Oral Sex, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Rimming, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-09 01:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11094450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brown_recluse/pseuds/brown_recluse
Summary: This is a CA:CW fix-it of the Stony variant. This serves as a sequel to Riving Metal and Melting Ice, but I think it's still understandable as a stand-alone. It involves the Steve Rogers/Tony Stark relationship after the events of Captain America: Civil War. It is canon-compliant with the MCU movies up to Spiderman: Homecoming (and I stole a piece of tech from the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. TV show). Other Marvel alternate universe content does not apply.Prequel ishere, if anyone wants to read that.





	1. Cease Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slow build, big bang length. It's finished but it needs a lot of editing, so it will go up slowly. I'm thinking 6-8 chapters eventually. This has a lot of smut in it, and smut even figures into the parts that deal with character development, so you need a high tolerance for that stuff to get through this. If you don't like that stuff, don't waste your time with this. I'm trying to get this all published before "Spiderman: Homecoming" comes out and Marvel changes the cannon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve waits for Tony to reestablish communications with him in Wakanda, and Wanda gets sprung.

Two hundred and seventeen days.

Slightly over seven months.

That’s how long it had taken.

Steve had finally acclimated to Wakanda’s brutally hot, wet mornings. Even with his “gifts”, it hadn’t been easy. But he could wake up and step outside without wanting to immediately retreat to the air-conditioned cocoon that was their compound.

“Their” compound. He was the only one left.

Wanda had finally departed. Bucky was in cryo offsite. The others had been gone for what seemed like a lifetime. And the morning heat was melting him alive.

It was all in his head, and he knew it. Before his covert meeting in London, he had almost started looking forward to running outside in the African sun. Now he could barely stand it. Every morning, he was forced to muster every ounce of strength he had just to climb out of bed. It would’ve been just as easy to shoot himself in the head.

He was losing his mind. He needed Tony to come through. Quickly.

* * *

Stark had said he would keep in touch. He had promised. Okay, he had not used the word “promise”, but Steve had known what he’d meant. He understood Tony perfectly. How could he not, after what they’d shared?

Rogers had been wholly at peace when they’d parted that morning in rural England. Drowsy, calm and gratified. They had enjoyed one last, lingering kiss, Tony’s mouth tasting like coffee, Steve engulfing him in a hard bear hug. Stark had given him a quick wink and a smile, and then Steve had watched as he climbed into his flashy rental and sped off.

Steve had replayed the night over and over in his mind, compiling a mental scrapbook. Stark’s eyes, his expressions, the patterns of his breathing, the texture of his hair and skin. The things he had whispered to Steve, that Steve was so strong, sexy, beautiful…

Rogers had grown tired of hearing compliments such as those. He knew they were empty flattery. But coming from Tony Stark, they were infallible fact. Like magic, he felt virile and desirable, instead of like a skinny fraud.

Strangely, he doubted he would miss Stark much during their short time apart. He would survive on his memories of their time together, until they were reunited. He needed nothing more, he told himself. He slept like a rock on the long flight back to Africa.

Returning to Wakanda felt like coming home that first night. He arrived too late to check on Bucky, but T’Challa assured him that Barnes’ situation was completely unchanged. He gave T’Challa a perfunctory rundown of how things had gone in London, and the king had seemed pleased. Rogers assured him that he, Wanda and Bucky would soon no longer be T’Challa’s problem, which almost certainly would be a great relief, though the king’s expression never wavered. Steve, of course, kept the details minimal, but he was sure the king could easily figure them out, and he wasn’t at all concerned. He was tired and deliriously happy, and he wanted only to return to his quarters and think of Stark, as he drifted off to sleep.

He returned to his usual routine the next day. A long morning run, followed by a boxing session with the heavy bag, a cool shower and breakfast. Then he paid a visit to the university labs and Bucky. All was unchanged, as T’Challa had said. He sat with Barnes for a while, watching his inert face.

“Soon, buddy, real soon,” he told Barnes, though he wasn’t really sure what he was promising.

After returning to the compound, he turned on his computer, checked his email and found nothing.

Tony had said he would communicate, but gave no clues about how. He had claimed to have performed some Starkian wizardry on Steve’s computer to throw off Ross’s cyber watchdogs, but Rogers had been too engrossed at the time with watching Stark’s lips move to pay attention to what they were saying.

After staring at the screen for a half hour, he shrugged and went about his day. Stark would get through to him when he was able. Chances were he hadn’t even gotten back to New York.

That night, Rogers found a particularly attractive photo of Stark online and printed it out to tape to the wall next to his bed. Like a pinup in a soldier’s locker, he thought. Now Tony’s face could be the last thing he saw before he fell asleep.

When he checked the computer the next day and still found nothing, he wasn’t overly concerned. He tried to better recall the exact conversation he had had with Stark. Other things he could remember perfectly. The drowsy expression on Stark’s face. The warmth of his body. The smell of his hair and neck.

He remembered Stark saying, “I’m as loyal as an old dog to the people I love.”

“Who knew a choirboy could be such a sex god?”

“What’s it like to have a cock that big?”

“I’ll give Bucky a chance. For you.”

“The chances we’re going to get all the stuff we want are slim and NONE.”

Steve jolted out of his reverie. _NONE._ What if Tony couldn’t get him home? What if the answer was “no”?

Rogers shook off the negative thought immediately. Military negotiations always took a long time. He needed to toughen up. Hell, it had only been two days! Stark knew what he was doing.

He printed out another photo for his wall.

That night, he didn’t fall asleep as easily.

* * *

The fifth day back, something happened that made his heart jump.

His uneasiness had been increasing, but he maintained his routine. He spent time with Bucky. He exercised and read whatever books he could find at the university that were translated into English. And he limited his time online to thirty minutes a day, to keep from obsessing. He would check general world and US news, some history and nature sites, maybe check on the weather worldwide, and then he was out. He even had a small travel clock on his desk with an alarm set, to make sure. He avoided reading anything about or related to the Avengers, and stayed clear of opinion and feedback pages.

That afternoon, he was spending his half-hour reading some trivia about FDR, when movement caught his eye at the bottom of his screen. Tiny, scrolling lettering had appeared, in a basic typewriter font. A very primitive crawl.

“MEETING IN DC RE MAXIMOFF REPATRIATION SCHEDULED – S”. Just that. Repeated three times. Then it blinked off.

Steve continued to stare for a long moment after it disappeared. He banged on his ENTER key, trying to bring it back. Then he rushed to his email. Nothing. Whatever. _“S”._ That had to be Tony. Tony was communicating!

Rogers jumped up and clapped his hands together, knocking over his chair in the process. There had been some trouble, he thought, that’s why it had taken so long. And the terse nature of the message supported that. But Tony had found a way.

Rogers was overjoyed. After throwing on some shorts, he ran to the palace and told T’Challa what had happened. The king smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, and even though he had tried to keep the elation in his voice down, Rogers felt like a teenage boy telling his dad that a girl he was crushing on had finally called him.

All evening, he thought of nothing but Stark. Later, in bed, he stroked himself to memories of that night in London, staring at the Stark photos on his wall, and then dropped off to sleep immediately after.

The next afternoon, he received another message: “CONDITIONS FOR MAXIMOFF EXTRADITION SUBMITTED – S”, and again his mood soared. He attempted to print the message, but it disappeared before he could get a screenshot.

On the chance that Stark could see his screen, Steve quickly opened a text program and typed “HI, TONY” in big letters. There was no response, and he closed it out after a few minutes. Rogers had never been particularly interested in computers. Now he desperately wished he knew more.

At the same time the following afternoon, he sat at the computer eagerly waiting for the next message, and received nothing. He stayed online for an extra thirty minutes, then an hour, then two hours. He ended up staring at the screen all afternoon, finally switching it off when the sun began to set. Had Tony sent it early and he’d missed it?

He tossed all night in his bed.

With trepidation, he logged on at his regular time the next day and waited. After roughly ten minutes, the crawl appeared: “NO NEW DEVELOPMENTS – S”.

Rogers exhaled in relief. Everything was fine. There had just been nothing to report. If he didn’t learn to relax, he told himself, Stark would be transferring him from Wakanda directly into an American psyche ward.

From then on, Stark “telegrams” arrived semi-regularly. Steve would receive them several consecutive days, then go days at a time without getting any. They were always short, impersonal and straight-to-the-point. Rogers would’ve killed for a “LOVE YOU”, or even a “MISS YOU”, but Stark must’ve had his reasons for keeping things all business.

One thing was certain – Steve lived for them. Sometime between London and where he now stood, his shaky composure regarding Stark had disintegrated.

He was mad with love.

He thought of Stark constantly, imprinting in his mind Tony’s smile, his hands, his gestures, planning in detail their inevitable reunion, what he would say, do, feel. He had taken up drawing again with a vengeance, strictly so he could memorialize Stark.

His bedside wall had become a sprawling, worshipful, photo collage of Tony faces and eyes, and he masturbated every night to them. T’Challa had always stayed away from the compound, considering it important that his guests be provided a private space, and Rogers was now extremely grateful for that policy. He could only imagine how his Stark shrine would look to the king, and he felt utterly ridiculous about almost everything he was doing, but he was powerless to stop.

His mood was entirely determined by whether he had received a message the previous day. His schedule now revolved around his early afternoons, when he was online. He was meticulous about being in front of the screen at the same time everyday. The telegrams always arrived somewhere in that half-hour window, and he kept this appointment religiously.

When a message came through, he was at peace until his allotted time the next day. The information was almost irrelevant – he was as happy with “NO NEW DEVELOPMENTS” as he was with notes that communicated plans or progress. On days when no word arrived, he would wonder, with annoyance, why Tony couldn’t just send _that_. His brain told him that Stark had a million things to do and didn’t always have time... his heart yearned for his lover’s attention, no matter how mechanical and distant.

* * *

There came a period of five days when nothing came through, and Rogers was practically shaking with anxiety. Then, out of the blue, he got the longest and most important message Stark had ever sent: “MAXIMOFF NEGOTIATIONS COMPLETE. RETURN TO US EMMINENT. FURTHER INFO SENT VIA PALACE – S.”

Before he was even able to find his phone, there was a knock on the door, and outside was a car and driver to take him to the palace.

T’Challa was waiting for him. Parties from both the US government and military had been in contact with him about Wanda’s situation. Transport was currently en route to Wakanda, and would be arriving shortly.

“Does she know what’s going on?” T’Challa asked Rogers.

“No. I thought this would happen by degrees. She barely speaks to me anymore.”

“Well, she needs to be told immediately. And she needs to prepare.”

Steve was rattled. “I’ll go tell her. Get her feelings on the situation.”

“You misunderstand me.” T’Challa’s expression was calm, but resolute. “Wakanda is extraditing her to the United States as of tomorrow. She has no say in the matter. She must leave.”

Steve looked at him with disbelief. “You’re kicking her out?”

“We’re sending her back. For her own good.” T’Challa narrowed his gaze. “This is what you wanted, Captain Rogers. Don’t you remember?”

“Not like this! We don’t even know what they’ll do to her. What if they throw her in jail? Or worse?”

T’Challa raised a hand to silence him.

“I have assurances from the involved authorities. They have sent me details of the entire process. No harm will come to her. They are to treat this as a medical release. She will be sent to a hospital, not prison. But if this is to work, you must impress on her the necessity of cooperation.”

Steve threw up his hands. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be asking her to do!”

“A military plane will arrive for her. It is equipped with some kind of a containment cube developed by S.H.I.E.L.D. researchers. It will negate her ability to use her powers. She will have to surrender herself to the parties on board and be confined to this cube for the trip back. Authorities will meet her when she lands, with further instructions.

"She need not be afraid. These are people that want the best for her. They are working outside Secretary Ross’s authority.”

Steve could only stare in silence.

“You must trust me, Steve. And so must she.” T’Challa’s eyes met Rogers’ straight on. “Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

* * *

When Rogers relayed the news, Wanda could barely be bothered to lift her head. She remained seated on the floor, and rolled her huge, hollow eyes up to meet Steve’s.

“So you are sending me back to Stark.” Her voice was flat, and her shoulders sagged in resignation. “He will surely kill me this time.”

“He won’t, Wanda. I can promise you that.” Steve used his most reassuring voice. “I’ve met with him personally about this, and I’ve gotten an ironclad agreement from him. He wouldn’t dare break his word.” He was overstating the point, but he wanted (needed) progress. On any front. If he could just get her out of this room…

She shrugged. “It makes no difference. I am finished with this world. I should’ve died with Pietro. Now I will get to see him again.”

“Don’t talk like that. This is a good thing. We rushed you into the field too quickly after your brother died. You weren’t finished mourning him. That’s what’s been feeding this. When you get home, you’ll get treatment. You’ll get time to heal.”

She looked at the floor. “Whatever. I don’t care.”

* * *

Wanda’s transport arrived way too early the next morning, and Steve was nauseated from lack of sleep.

After he had seen Wanda the night before, his initial trepidation faded and was replaced with elation.

His reunion with Tony was near. He realized he cared about nothing else, if he was honest with himself. He felt guilty that he wasn’t more apprehensive for Wanda, but he had long since begun to see her as just a step in a seemingly interminable process – one that had to be over and done with. Then the part he actually cared about would be so much nearer. He needed her to get on that plane.

There was no way to sleep that evening. All night, he swung from euphoria, to apprehension, to hopefulness, and back again. He even felt jealousy that it was Wanda, not he, that would be heading home in the morning. He decided, impulsively, that he had to get a message to Stark.

He hauled himself out of bed and to the nearest desk, and began to scrawl a long, unhinged letter. Images floated through his tired mind, of Stark smiling at him, waiting for him. Stark’s eyes. A trusting face. A small, warm body. Memories from that day and night, as clear as if it had been yesterday. He even thought he could smell Tony’s cologne once or twice as he wrote.

His first draft was rambling and unfocused, full of declarations of longing and desire. He wrote about the pictures on his wall, and all the accompanying nighttime fantasies they inspired. In lurid detail, he described the things he would do to Stark when they were alone together again. And he told Stark how much he loved him, over and over, throughout the letter. Then, after briefly reviewing what he’d wrote, he crumpled up the letter and stuffed it into his old knapsack. It was way too embarrassing to actually send.

He started over. He wrote about how things were going in Wakanda since he’d returned from London, about receiving the messages, about Bucky and Wanda, and how much he missed and looked forward to returning home. And he thanked Tony profusely for his efforts on Wanda’s behalf.

Better, he thought, as he read it over. Dignified and composed, but still warm and friendly. Slightly distant, maybe, but much better than frothing all over Stark like a pervert. He folded it up and put it in his jacket pocket.

Now, after maybe two hours of sleep, he found himself shuffling across a flat, concrete tarmac toward a nondescript cargo plane, holding hands with a zombie-like Wanda. A squad of Wankandan soldiers was there to see her off. She couldn’t have looked more miserable if she was being lead toward a firing squad.

“Wanda.” Rogers turned and looked into her face, and his voice was soft. Her eyes briefly flickered. “Please don’t be scared. No one will hurt you, as long as you don’t hurt them. Give this a chance. You have more friends waiting for you than you realize.”

He leaned in closer and dropped his voice even further. “I’m sorry, but I need to ask you for a favor.” He took the letter, folded into a small square, from his pocket and slipped it against the palm of one of her limp hands. “I need you to give this to Tony Stark, if you see him and get the chance. Only if it’s possible, don’t worry if you can’t…”

“No.” From out of nowhere, T’Challa’s deep voice startled Rogers, and Wanda jumped. The king’s hand reached out and snatched the folded note from her fingers.

“Hey… !” Steve protested.

“No messages,” T’Challa warned. “Nothing that might look covert. As far as the involved parties are concerned, transparency is paramount to any of this actually taking place.”

“It’s just a thank-you letter to Stark!”

T’Challa lowered his brow. “It could also appear to suspicious eyes that you are collaborating with Stark. That can’t happen. Stark would agree, were he here.”

The king beckoned to one of his guards, who was carrying a black case. Inside was what appeared to be a pair of high-tech wrist restraints. T’Challa lifted them out and handed them to a confused Steve.

“Captain Rogers will put these on you.” The king spoke to Wanda in soothing tones, as if he were trying to keep a anxious, half-tamed tiger calm. “They are strictly for the sake of appearance. You will only have to wear them for the duration of the flight. It is for the protection of the flight crew. I know you would never hurt them, as does Steve. But they are nervous and this will reassure them.” He nodded to Rogers.

Rogers balked, but Wanda held out her wrists to him, too despondent to resist. Steve slipped the restraints on, and watched as they automatically resized to fit her narrow wrists and clicked shut. Stark-tech, thought Rogers, and something in his heart fluttered, despite the grimness of the moment.

The restraints were light, but Wanda dropped her wrists abruptly, as if they were encased in concrete. Her eyes were blank and her head drooped in misery. She’s done, thought Steve. She believes she’s committing suicide, and she’s ready to get it over with.

Steve was desperate to reassure her, but Maximoff refused to even acknowledge his presence as they walked toward the plane. Finally, she lifted her head and fixed her eyes on the open cargo door, staring catatonically. As they approached, the glass containment cube came into view. Its front panel was open, waiting for her.

Steve kept his eyes fixed on her face. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s all gonna be alright.”

Had her expression changed? Her eyes, so lifeless for months, seemed to spark. He followed her line of sight, and realized he hadn’t imagined it… because seated inside the cube was Vision. He stood up and smiled gently at her. She returned his smile, and her eyes were almost… eager? Had she even increased her pace?

Steve was so relieved he felt light-headed. He gave Vision his brightest grin and waved, but was ignored. Vision had eyes for Wanda only. She mounted the ramp of the plane, and he held out his hand to her as she entered the cube. Then the front panel was lowered, the cargo door closed, and they disappeared from view. Not ten minutes later, the plane took off for home.

Rogers and T’Challa stood on the tarmac and watched until it faded into the blue sky. Suddenly, Steve felt very alone.

Wanda had not been much in the way of company since she had fallen into despair, but her presence had given Steve a reason to remain stable. He had wanted to fall to pieces frequently, but he told himself Wanda needed him, no matter how ineffective he was at lifting her mood. And he had worked hard at it, spending time with her, bringing her meals, holding mostly one-way conversations for little return. He had often wished, in secret, to be rid of the obligation.

Now, after all that wasted effort, Vision (and Stark, in some respect) had swanned in and solved the problem easily. Weirdly, he resented it. And even sensed that he would miss her. He was now the only Avenger still in exile.

T’Challa cleared his throat, interrupting Rogers trance. He handed back the small, folded note that Rogers had spent all night composing for Stark.

“You can give this to him yourself when you see him again,” he said gently. “Come to the palace for dinner tonight. You look like you need cheering up. I know you can’t get drunk, but at least we can make an effort.” He smiled at Steve over his shoulder as he walked off.

Rogers worked the note between his fingers. How long would it be before they sent a plane to bring him back? Would he have to ride in a containment cube? Would Tony be inside it, waiting for him?


	2. Going Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communications stop, causing Rogers to doubt Stark's intentions. Angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: traces of smut ahead.

Dead silence. That was all there was now. In the compound. From the palace. From Stark.

No “NO NEW DEVELOPMENTS”. That was all Rogers needed now. An acknowledgement that anything at all had happened. But from the minute Wanda left, nothing at all.

Just silence.

Rogers analyzed and brooded until he was exhausted, and he still couldn’t sleep. In anguish, he questioned T’Challa about anything he might’ve heard, no matter how insignificant it might seem.

“I think you and I are seeing the combined power of the United States government and Stark Industries,” T’Challa explained. “They have things shut down tightly. I usually have back channels I can use, but those are closed off, too.”

“Do you even know if Wanda got back okay?” Steve asked. His envy of her had turned to worry.

“I haven’t heard that she _didn’t_ get back okay. So I’m optimistic.”

“That’s really not helpful.” Steve’s patience had worn paper-thin.

“It’s all I can offer right now.”

Steve shook his head in frustration.

“If I hear anything, you will be the first to know,” T’Challa assured, and Rogers knew he had pushed far enough.

In the quiet of his room at night, Rogers’ imagination ran wild. Something had happened to Tony, he had been assassinated or was critically ill. Wanda had done something catastrophic, and now negotiations were irreparably broken down. Or… a deal HAD been made, and the cost of all these pardons was Steve’s imprisonment and eventual execution. And Stark was too chickenshit to tell him that.

In the daylight, he was more rational. His nightmare scenarios were ludicrous. If anything that drastic had occurred, he reasoned, T’Challa would’ve heard something. Every afternoon, he vowed to be strong and stop acting silly at night. Then the sun went down.

Steve stared at his Stark wall and agonized. The pictures didn’t arouse or distract him anymore. He couldn’t remember now why they ever had. Anyone could print out those photos, he thought. Plenty of guys, and gals for that matter, had probably jerked off – and whatever the gal equivalent of jerking off was – to them. What he needed… was something that belonged just to him.

He got up, grabbed a pencil and some wastepaper, and began to draw quickly. Ten minutes later, he had completed a simple drawing, entirely from memory, of a naked Stark lying on his back, looking up at him. No good, he thought, and crumpled it up. Nowhere near as sexy as he had looked that night.

He started another, this time using the wall printouts as references, but trying to capture the narrow, wet look in Stark’s eyes, and the wanton expression on his face. Better, he thought when he was finished, but not beautiful enough.

He did another. And another. One smiling. One with parted lips and no smile. Several with closed eyes. At the end of the night, he had a pile of naked Tony drawings, three of which he almost liked. And a pleasant side effect was… the act of drawing Stark had somehow managed to turn him on. It had been quite a while. He had a long, pleasurable masturbation session and then was able to sleep like the dead, well into the afternoon. Normally, even if he _had_ been up all night, he would’ve felt guilty about sleeping during the day. Now…

His daily routines and systems were breaking down. And he couldn’t be bothered to set things right. No one cared about him or what he did. He could sleep all day, who gave a shit? He certainly didn’t. And there was no sign that things were going to change. Maybe this was it. Maybe he was permanently exiled.

He would still visit Bucky. And he was still welcome at the palace. Though he didn’t feel fit for civilized company, he had to stay in the loop with T’Challa. But despite reassurances from the king that he would be the first to hear of any developments, Steve didn’t buy it.

Why would an important man with a king’s duties and responsibilities care about a character as ridiculous as Captain America, with no relevance whatsoever to Wakanda? He was nothing to T’Challa but a foreign troublemaker. A floating cypher.

His personality darkened. His drawings of Stark became explicit and aggressive. Stark with his head thrown back and his legs open, exposing his ass. Isolated parts of his body, just his cock and balls, or spread asscheeks with his hole visible. Rogers would jerk off roughly looking at them, fantasizing about making Stark howl for mercy. He pictured humiliating Stark, holding him down, stuffing two fingers up that little hole, pulling them out and smelling them, right in front of Tony’s face…

He had always hidden his Stark nudes earlier, to protect Tony’s privacy, even though visitors almost never came to the compound. Now he left them laying in plain view, not caring who might see them, or how they might embarrass Stark. Or him, for having drawn them.

He blamed Stark alone for his feelings of abandonment and rejection. Stark had been so sincere after that night, so affectionate, so… loving. He had even used the word…

But what did the word “love” mean to a man like Tony Stark anyway? He had slept with so many people… was he even capable of being impressed enough with any one of them to actually fall in love anymore? He preferred one-night stands, after all. And one-night stands rarely knew that that was all they were. He probably told all of them he loved them, if it made for a better time in bed. He had run off all his serious lovers.

Or had he? Maybe… maybe _she_ was back. Steve barely knew Pepper Potts. He hadn’t liked or disliked her. And he well understood how trying to coexist with Stark could work a person’s nerves. But now, the notion that maybe she was back in Stark’s life, and that he had been pushed aside for her, infuriated Rogers.

Who was _she_ , anyway? So what if she had worked with (and loved) Stark for, what, ten plus years? She had never fought beside him on the battlefield. She hadn’t faced down aliens with him. All she had ever tried to do was stifle his genius. She had never appreciated him. She couldn’t _really_ understand him.

A wave of intense guilt derailed Rogers train of thought. Now he was raging at _Pepper_ , of all people? For that matter, why was he mentally abusing only Stark? Natasha, Sam, Vision – even Nick Fury – they had all been close to Steve, and had done nothing to help him. At least Stark had kept one promise. Wanda had gone back…

Wanda. Stark hated Wanda! A chilling apprehension hit Rogers, and he abruptly suspected… that this whole thing had been a trap. A trick to get him and T’Challa to turn over Wanda. They had sent her back into the claws of Ross and Stark, to face whatever consequences awaited her. Alone. And T’Challa hadn’t heard a word since she’d left.

Rogers flushed hot. Would Stark really do that? Sleep with Steve so he would lower his guard about protecting Wanda? If that had been the plan, then Wanda was either dead or in grave danger. And he was the biggest fool in the universe, because he’d been warned. By none other than Stark himself.

Rogers slammed his hand down so hard on the desk that it buckled in the middle, and the entire thing collapsed in a pile on the floor. He would kill Stark. No discussion. No clemency! He was tired of being deceived by that charming little prick.

So he was completely thunderstruck when word came the next day that a plane was on its way from New York. For him.


	3. Encirclement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve returns home and reunites with Tony.
> 
> Really long chapter is really long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Major smut ahead. If you don't want that, _stop here_.

T’Challa had come to the compound in person to deliver the news, and Rogers was immediately suspicious. It didn’t inspire confidence that T’Challa seemed leery, too.

“Why now, all the sudden?” Steve asked “Something’s up.”

The king shrugged. “This is coming through a peripheral source, not through Stark’s people. I don’t have much background.”

“Do you trust this source?”

T’Challa seemed deep in thought. “I… don’t know.”

“If you were me… ?”

T’Challa shook his head. “I don’t know how to advise you. I do know that the tone of these negotiations changed after Maximoff left. That’s my perception, anyway.”

“Changed for good or bad?”

“Difficult to say. It’s been harder to get information, that much is certain.”

“Is Wanda okay?”

“If my people could locate her, we might be able to clarify that. As it is, we have no idea. But, if I had to guess, I’d say the difficulty is elsewhere.”

Rogers huffed with annoyance. “So that’s a ‘yes’?”

“I don’t want to steer you in the wrong direction, Captain Rogers. The stakes are very high, for both of us.”

“Meaning… ”

“I placed you under the protection of my country. If we send you back… and something unfortunate happens… we would have to react in some way. I don’t relish the thought of declaring war… ”

“Whoa, no way.” Steve’s shook his head. “I don’t want that, not over me.”

T’Challa silenced him with a look. “At that point, it wouldn’t be up to you. But there are also consequences for refusing what could be a gesture of conciliation.”

“What would you have me do?”

The king was beginning to look angry. “I would have _you_ decide what you are going to do. These are your people, not mine. You should know them better than I.”

“Yeah, but I could use some input. This is a huge decision!”

The king gave him a stony look. “You made a huge decision when you rejected the Accords. And you made it with almost no consideration at all. Why so squeamish now?”

“I… ” Steve took a deep breath, squelching the impulse to snap back. “It was obvious the Accords were a bad idea. I felt it right away, in my gut.”

T’Challa smirked. “And what does your gut tell you now?” He looked pointedly around the front room of the compound.

It was a mess. Steve had stopped all efforts at tidying up after himself, and there were used dishes piled on tables, and dirty clothes strewn everywhere. And, clearly visible on a nearby table, were several of his drawings of a naked Tony Stark.

The king gave him a sour smile. “It appears you’ve grown tired of our hospitality. And your own company.”

Rogers’ shoulders sagged in defeat. “Don’t say that,” he said sadly.

“Is it not true?”

“The part about Wakanda, no. The part about my own company… ” Rogers clenched and unclenched his fists. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so disgusted with myself.”

T’Challa’s expression softened.

“I feel so damn… impotent!” Steve blushed slightly, but that was the perfect word.

He gestured towards the embarrassing drawings, without self-consciousness. “That fucking…!” he began, then remembered whom he was talking to. He pointed to the drawings angrily.

“He and I… we were supposed to be together! We’re supposed to be together _now_! He made me believe that! I trusted him. I thought he wanted to be with me!

“But he and his flunkies… They sure are taking their sweet time deciding about my life. If he respected me as a teammate or… or cared about me as a friend, why isn’t this a priority for him?"

Rogers rubbed his forehead in frustration. “I’ve given him too much power over me, and I have to take it back. Even if I’m walking into a trap, it’s time to stop hiding. I need to do something.”

T’Challa reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. “So. There is your decision.”

***

A standard army cargo plane arrived for him. No special communications or instructions. No containment cube. And no Stark.

But he was expected to wear the restraints. T’Challa’s face was grim as he helped Steve put them on. Steve had always felt that he had been nothing but a burden to the king, but could it be possible, now that the time had come, that T’Challa was a little sorry to see him go?

Because as Rogers felt himself moving towards a scary, possibly hostile void, he suddenly wanted with all his heart to stay. He missed Wakanda terribly already, and he hadn’t even left.

“Am I doing something totally stupid?” he asked T’Challa.

The king tried to reassure him. “You knew you would have to face this eventually. Why not be done with it? Things have to move forward, somehow.”

He clasped Steve’s restrained right hand in both of his. “I trust your ability to handle anything that comes your way. It has been a pleasure having you here.”

Steve winked at T’Challa. “But not really, huh?” he joked. He pulled the king to him in a semblance of a hug. (Quite clumsily, with cuffed hands). “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for all you’ve done.”

T’Challa smiled. “Don’t worry about James Barnes. We will keep him safe until we hear from you.”

Steve nodded and tapped his own chest in gratitude. Then he turned and walked away, without looking back. Into the plane, and away from Wakanda and Bucky. Towards God only knew what.

***

There was a small crowd of people waiting as the plane rolled to a halt on the pavement, and he strained his eyes to see who they were. Military. Mostly security. There was no sign of Colonel Ross. He recognized none of these men.

Rogers had worried and planned almost the whole long, uncomfortable flight. Unable to eat, sleep, or calm his nerves, he had automatically fallen back on his training. He had spent the entire time mentally working his way through every possible scenario, and choreographing a response to each.

They couldn’t just execute him outright. An action that drastic wouldn’t be able to be kept dark, no matter how leak-proof this operation had become. And they couldn’t just throw him in the Raft and leave him there indefinitely. The other Avengers had been reintegrated into the population. The nation would eventually notice if he was the only one who was never heard from again.

There would certainly be a trial. There would have to be. He couldn’t believe that the majority of the American (and maybe even the global) public wasn’t willing to at least give him his day in court.

He had done many exceptional things and his intentions were always without reproach. What loss of life he had caused had been accidental. They must realize he was not a bad man, unless there had been some campaign to smear his character in his absence. Well… he could do nothing to counter that, except tell his side of the story and hope people listened. He had written Stark once that he had faith in people. He needed to trust in that more than ever now.

And with that last thought in mind, he had either drifted off to sleep or fallen into a trance, because the next thing he knew, the plane was bumping to a halt on a rough runway in the middle of what looked like a small, private airport.

He didn’t recognize the place, and his heart felt like it was turning to lead. At that moment, he would’ve given anything to look around and still see Wakanda’s clear skies and lush, green jungle. Two days ago, he had felt he would have to kill himself if he had to spend another minute in Africa. Life was strange indeed.

One of his guards reached out to help him from his seat. He waved off the assistance and got up slowly. His shoulders and elbows were stiff from the restraints, and his knees and hips ached from being in roughly the same position for the sixteen-hour flight, but he was damned if he would let anyone know.

They exited directly onto the runway. Steve felt frayed and weak, and his mind was sluggish. He had become accustomed to the heavy, humid air of Wakanda, and the New York air he’d grown up with now seemed thin and stale.

His guards marched him directly into the small airport terminal, and the military contingent fell in behind them. About twelve men in all, armed to the teeth. Steve did a quick mental rundown and decided he could take them without much effort. For now, he would go along and see what happened.

Another contingent of security was approaching from down the corridor, these in black suits. Hired muscle. Government and contracted security of some kind. Steve eyes scanned quickly and he felt a hitch in his chest. In the middle, following slightly behind, was Stark.

Steve was able to pick him out quickly due to how much smaller he was than the others. A sour taste flooded his mouth. Did Stark actually think these guys would be able to protect him if Rogers wanted at him? He became aware of the restraints. They seemed tighter somehow.

Stark was wearing a pristine suit and dark shades, all business, not acknowledging Rogers or returning his gaze. The ranking guard held out to him some papers, and he stood ramrod straight as he signed them with a flourish. But on examination, Steve thought the small face appeared strained and pale. He couldn’t make out the conversation between Stark and the squad leader. After a few moments, the military guards turned and exited, and the civilian security took over, flanking Steve.

“Move,” said Stark.

The man on Steve’s left nodded down the corridor, and off they went, four men in front and behind, with Steve in the middle, and Stark to his right, at a distance. Steve turned his head toward Tony, looking for recognition of any kind. None was given. The small figure’s body language and expression were both cold as ice. Rogers maintained his impassive guise, but his brain was on high alert, readying for action.

“Where are we going?” he asked calmly, but received no answer.

Finally, Stark said, “Hold up.” They stopped next to a small, employee restroom.

“Captain Rogers looks like shit,” he said dismissively. “I’m sure he’d like to use the facilities.”

Hatred flared in Steve’s heart, but Stark was right. He was feeling ragged and filthy, and he sensed that he might even smell bad. Clean hands or a splash of water on his face might help him feel mildly human again.

The security team moved forward, but Stark stopped them with a twitch of his hand. “He doesn’t need a parade. I’ll watch him.”

His eyes finally met Steve’s, and they stared at each other coldly. “Go on,” Stark growled impatiently, jerking his head at the door. Steve looked daggers at him, but then pushed his way into the restroom.

The door closed behind, and he found himself looking into a large mirror that occupied the facing wall. He _did_ look like shit, tired and unshaven, with an oily face and limp hair. His reflection hid Stark’s, but he had felt the smaller man follow him in, like an annoying shadow. Rogers stifled the urge to reach back and grab him by the throat. Briefly, he leaned over the sink top with his cuffed hands, then decided to confront the problem head-on. He took a deep breath and turned around abruptly. “Okay, what happen…?”

He found himself face-to-face with Stark, only a few scant inches away, and startled backwards. He would’ve reflexively thrown a punch, if his hands hadn’t been restrained.

Tony didn’t notice. He had removed his shades, and Rogers was immediately immobilized by a pair of huge, brown eyes. They were so close he could see his stunned reflection in them. Then Stark’s hands circled him, and warm lips were on his. He stumbled back against the sink in shock.

“You’re back, thank Christ,” Stark murmured, with a huge smile. He pulled Rogers close in a harder embrace. “God, I’ve missed you!”

Steve’s exhausted mind struggled to absorb what was happening. After he’d returned from England, he had had a hundred dreams like this, before the rage and suspicion had completely taken over. And Stark’s face had looked exactly like this. Was this a credible scenario? His eyes darted around, looking for clues, anything that might be out of place. He was vaguely aware Stark was talking.

Stark had felt Steve’s hands twitch and stepped back, noticing the restraints. “Sorry,” he said. “Let me get those.”

He moved his hands deftly over the outside of both cuffs. They immediately snapped open, and he removed them and tossed them onto the counter behind Steve.

“Better?” he asked with a smile, and grabbed hold of Rogers again, nuzzling his face into Steve’s neck.

Rogers' senses fought to dispel this possible mirage. He slowly lifted his shaking hands and hesitantly put them around Stark. Felt like Stark, same height, same firmness, a bit skinnier maybe, but definitely plausible. The voice was his usual tone, except for the obvious excitement.

Steve turned his face toward Stark’s hair. And that… Tony’s hair smelled like _that_. Clean. Lemongrass. Rogers allowed himself to tighten his embrace.

Stark was speaking into his ear, and he tried to concentrate.

“… I think he would’ve had me up for treason, if he could’ve swung it. So I went on the mother of all charm offensives, and I had to drag Rhodes into it. It was quite a circus… ”

Steve’s hands moved over Tony’s back and shoulders, feeling his warmth, and he dropped his head into Tony’s neck.

“… so that happened. And then I had to go to the UN and kiss asses over there…”

Steve moved his hands up to cup Stark’s face, and looked deep into his eyes. “Is that really you?”

Tony pulled back and his smile turned droll. “Of course it’s me. Who do you think it is?”

“I… ” Steve emphatically shook his head. “I thought something was wrong. You seemed furious out there.”

Tony raised his eyebrows and gave a mischievous look. “Pretty good, huh?” he asked. Steve was utterly confused.

“Like I said, they are absolutely convinced we are colluding. Ross wanted me arrested, he was so pissed at the way I handled Maximoff, with Vision going over and everything. Like I could actually order Vision to do something he didn’t want to do. They think he’s a Legionnaire or something. ‘Too conciliatory,’ I think that was the phrase. They wanted to treat her as a prisoner of war, and when I argued against that, they thought I was with _her_. I have witnesses that can confirm I hate her guts! They still won’t buy it. Then Ross comes up with some elaborate conspiracy theory about me helping you break everyone off the Raft, sending you intelligence… whatever. They’re at max paranoia, and it’s not just you anymore. Now _I’ve_ become the boogeyman. So, for the time being, we’ve got to pretend that we don’t like each other. At least until you prove you’re not a threat.”

“Oh,” was all Rogers could manage. Too much information to take in. Then he met Tony’s eyes.

“Screw it,” he mumbled, and swept Stark up in a huge bear hug, lifting him off his feet. He moved a hand to the side of Tony’s head and pressed their faces together, rocking slightly back and forth, like a person holding an infant would. He could hear Stark making a quiet “mmmm” sound, and he turned his head to press a kiss to Tony’s face.

“We’ll have to be careful,” Stark repeated.

Rogers nodded over Tony’s shoulder. “Should we lock that door?”

“Nah, they won’t come in. No one knows it, but three of those guys are mine, including the one in charge. They’ll make sure everyone does what I say.”

“Good.” Rogers lifted Tony so their eyes were level, and planted a hungry, open-mouthed kiss on him. Stark opened his mouth, inviting Rogers' tongue. His body relaxed into Steve’s.

Rogers could feel how thin and sinewy Stark was. That was new. He felt a strong tremble move down Stark’s body, as he squeezed tighter. He lowered Tony to the floor, and reached up to cup his chin, staring deep into his eyes. Those brilliant eyes… were exhausted. Happy, surely, but bordering on hollow. The circles underneath were a shade darker than dark. His lids were heavy, and it seemed an effort to keep them open.

Stark looked puzzled, but forced (what he probably thought was) a carefree smile. He returned Steve’s searching gaze.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sudden worry in those tired eyes. “You don’t seem that happy to be here.” The smile abruptly dropped off his face. “Did you change your mind about wanting to come back?”

“What?” Rogers forced his head to clear. “No. Not at all. I… ” How much should he confess? “You… ” He sighed with exasperation. “You give me whiplash, Stark. I never know how… I mean, everything was going great. And then, when the messages stopped, I didn’t… ”

Tony face broke open in a huge smile.

“You got those?” He gave a small hop of tired excitement and visibly stopped himself from clapping his hands. “I didn’t think that was working! I wrote all sorts of new code to bypass their spyware, but I thought… it’s actually not even programming, really…”

He broke off, looking down at the floor with self-satisfied embarrassment. “I can’t believe that worked. You got them,” he said, almost to himself.

“You kidding? I lived for them.”

“I thought I was blathering into the wind.” Stark absently stroked his hands up and down Steve’s arms. “I had to stop. I thought Ross’s guys were listening in and I was pretty sure they weren’t even getting to you. They were boring, anyway…”

“I _lived_ for them, Tony.”

He scooped Stark back up in his arms, bringing their faces close, and lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “I thought you’d forgotten me. Or decided I was too much trouble.”

Stark gave him a wounded look. “I’ve done nothing else since I got back but work on this. Day and night. Back and forth, to Washington, Europe, Africa… I’ve been watched, followed, harassed, threatened…!”

“I know.” He pulled Stark close, speaking directly into his ear. “I know. I’m an idiot.” He stroked Stark’s head, raking his fingers through the dark hair. “I just missed you so much it made me crazy. I went crazy. I'm having trouble believing you're really here.”

He turned his face into Stark’s hair and breathed in deeply. “And you smell so good.”

Stark chuckled into his shoulder. “That’s an evasion, if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Just stating a fact,” Steve mumbled.

He moved one arm lower, to the small of Stark’s back, and pulled their hips together, rubbing slightly against him. Now that the shock was fading, he had an erection, and he couldn’t even muster the discretion to be embarrassed.

Stark leaned into it with his hipbone. “And… there it is. The untamable monster,” he murmured.

“You tamed it pretty well last time,” Steve rasped back.

“Not exactly how I remember it, Cap.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be taking another run at it soon.” Rogers flicked his tongue into Tony’s ear, and then felt Stark’s hand on his cock. “We should leave now,” he whispered urgently.

“In a minute.” Stark spread his hand and rubbed an eager palm up and down Steve’s erection. Steve squirmed and pulled away.

“Tony, you might not want to gun that particular engine if you’re not planning on driving the car.”

“Who said I wasn’t driving it?”

“Here?!”

“Relax. I’m just gonna take it out for a little spin.” Stark unzipped Steve’s fly and reached inside.

Rogers blushed hard. “In a dirty men’s room?”

Stark faked a quick look around. “Looks clean enough to me,” he mumbled, then ran his open mouth up and down Steve’s neck, trailing his tongue against the skin.

His hand slid into Steve’s underwear and grasped his naked cock. Rogers reeled as skin touched skin, and he reached back to brace himself on the sink. His cock was hard as vibranium, and his heart was pounding in his ears.

“Stark, what the hell are you doing?” he muttered, but he was powerless to move.

Tony was kissing his clothed chest with open lips. He circled one nipple with the dry tip of his tongue, flicking over the tip and feeling it harden beneath Steve’s shirt. He heard Steve take a huge gulp of air. He moved to press his face into Steve’s hard abs, rubbing his nose into them and drinking in Rogers’ scent, sinking down on one knee.

He took his hand out of Steve’s pants and rucked up his t-shirt slightly, to expose the warm skin below his navel and the sparse, blond, treasure trail of hair that ran down to his groin. He dropped onto both knees and lightly breathed warm air against the sensitive skin. Then he pressed soft kisses on the blond trail, and pressed the flat of his tongue against it, moving it up and down.

Steve’s knees buckled from the sensation, and he briefly felt he might pass out. He felt a roiling, tightening sensation in his balls.

“Tony, stop!” He touched the side of Stark’s head, stilling him. “I’m gonna come!”

“Not yet, soldier,” Stark growled, digging his fingertips into Steve’s hips. “Relax and breathe.”

Steve took several deep, shuddering breaths and fully leaned against the sink, making sure his legs were under him. He waited for his vision to clear and his heartbeat to slow.

“Okay?” Tony asked after a minute, looking up, and Rogers gazed into those eyes.

He made a conscious effort to stop shaking and relax his abdomen. “Alright,” he mouthed, barely audible.

Stark pulled down the front of Steve’s pants and the waistband of his underwear, and his hard cock sprung up and out. Tony encircled it with his fist, and gave it a full stroke to the tip, and then all the way down to the root. Steve’s patch of blond pubic hair was fully exposed now, and Tony pressed his face against it, nuzzling in.

Rogers had heard endless talk, in the most vulgar terms, about blowjobs while he was in the army, but had never actually experienced one, and he had naively wondered if the whole thing wasn’t an urban legend. The stories he had heard were certainly exaggerations, he thought.

How would a woman actually fit an erect cock into her mouth, and why would she even want to? Maybe a prostitute who was getting paid would attempt it, if asked. But an ordinary, nice girl? It definitely sounded fishy, even though all the Commandos (even Bucky himself) claimed they got them regularly.

But as soon as Stark’s mouth kissed the tip of his cock, everything he’d been told flooded into his head at once, and he immediately felt inexperienced and self-conscious.

“Tony, I don’t know if that’s… ” he stammered, with embarrassment. “I haven’t showered in awhile… ”

Stark didn’t respond, seemingly transfixed by Steve’s erection, moving his hand over it, measuring its size. Finally, he answered, almost to himself, “You smell like a man. Like you.”

Rogers looked down in fascination. Tony’s face looked so small, and Steve’s fully-hardened cock appeared so big. Thick and red, and so hot Tony’s hand on it felt cool. A drop of cum oozed out of the tip, and an embarrassed Rogers fought the impulse to cover himself with anything he could reach.

He had never felt so exposed and vulnerable, not even when emerging from Erskine’s pod, or immobilized by the Red Skull’s goons.

Even _he_ hadn’t looked at his cock that closely. He had never imagined what it would be like to have a pair of eyes down there, to feel someone breathing so close. He was flushed with shame. The whole thing was unseemly. But he couldn’t move.

Any moment, Stark would pull away and laugh, he thought. He might kiss on it a bit, but... get his mouth around all that? Rogers was certain he would injure himself. And he held onto that certainty right up to the second Stark swallowed him whole.

Lightening struck Steve’s spine. He was engulfed in a warm, slick something, experienced and eager. He glanced down to see Stark’s lips stretched wide around his cock, and watched him bury his nose in Steve’s blond pubic hair. Rogers froze like a statue.

Stark pulled back, sucking hard, letting the huge cock slip from his mouth, until his lips caught the tip and clamped fiercely around it. The sensation was glorious. Steve groaned helplessly and grasped the sink rim tightly, fighting to stay quiet. The guards could come in any second and see…

Then his mind went blank as Stark swallowed him again, and he couldn’t have given a damn who walked in.

He could make out the slightly rough texture of Stark’s tongue as it swirled against the underside of his cock. Then Stark pulled slowly off, ever so gently scraping Rogers’ dick with his teeth as he withdrew, adding a twinge of pain to the intense pleasure, and again Steve felt a seconds away from blacking out.

His slick cock sprung up, and Tony grabbed it, bringing the tip against his lips. His tongue lapped out and circled roughly around the pink head. Then he wriggled the tip of his tongue into the slit, opening the tiny hole. Steve groaned loudly again, clutching the sink so hard he was worried he would crack the porcelain. Stark, of course, took that as encouragement.

He moved his hands to Steve’s hips and pulled the back of his pants down, exposing his ass. Each hand grabbed a firm cheek, squeezing hard. Steve could feel his naked buttocks pressed against the cold of the porcelain, Stark’s fingers kneading the round muscle. His cock grew impossibly harder.

Tony released his ass and cupped his full balls in one hand, squeezing gently. With the other, he brought Steve’s cock to his mouth and rubbed his tongue back and forth across the slit, like a cat lapping cream.

Rogers was about to lose his mind. Every muscle in his body clenched, trying to prolong the aching euphoria. He wanted nothing more than to grab Stark’s hair and force his cock down Tony’s throat as hard as he could, but concluded dizzily that that might be considered rude. And he certainly didn’t want to choke his brilliant, generous Tony… whose endless talents he was just beginning to explore…

Then Stark swallowed him deep again, and Steve came as forcefully as he could ever remember. A hot explosion of pleasure gripped his cock and balls, and shot up the base of his spine. He wasn’t sure, but he might’ve shrieked.

He felt muted panic in the back of his mind, because all that cum had nowhere to go but down Tony’s throat… and that couldn’t be right. Wasn’t he supposed to pull out? He briefly tried to remember what Bucky had said about that, but promptly gave up, as wave after wave of bliss washed over him.

From what seemed a great distance, he was aware of a continuing, pleasing pressure around his cock. Tony was still sucking on him, drawing out his warm cum like milkshake through a straw, and swallowing it down. The idea made his whole body thrum. His cock spasmed once more, and finally emptied completely.

His head snapped back and his vision went white behind his eyelids. He felt like he was floating, weightless, as his climax reached its peak. Then, after it diminished and he settled gently back down, he at last felt Tony’s mouth release his cock.

***

He was sitting against the sink, naked from his waist to below his ass, when his world stopped spinning. Tony was clinging to his thighs, his head resting against Steve’s groin, and Steve was absently running his hands through Tony’s hair. He had completely forgotten where they were and looked around in a daze, trying to reorient himself. Bathroom. Airport.

“Oh my God,” he panted. Now he understood all the fuss.

“ _Ow_.” Stark winced, gritting his teeth against Steve’s bare thigh.

Steve looked down and saw Tony struggle onto one knee. He reached a hand up to Steve. “Help me up, will ya?”

Rogers easily pulled him up onto his feet.

“Christ, my knees.” Tony bent over to massage both of his kneecaps. “I’m too old for this. I _must_ stop.”

“That… would be tragic.” Rogers wiped his soaking forehead with the back of his hand. He pushed himself up from the sink and pulled his pants up, tucking in his shirt. “That. Was. _Holy shit!_ ”

He cupped Stark’s jaw in bewilderment. “How did you do that? Your mouth is so small.”

Stark scoffed, jerking his head away. “You’re the first human being that’s ever told me that.”

Rogers continued to stare, and Stark scowled. “When you deal with the kind of people I have to deal with on a regular basis, you need ironclad control of your gag reflex.”

Steve scrunched up his face. “You swallow that stuff?”

He could see he was making Stark self-conscious, but he couldn’t stop.

“How does it taste?”

Stark shot him an irritated glance. “Not _good_ , that’s for damn sure.”

Steve looked stricken at that, and Tony shrugged contritely.

“You try to swallow it far back in your throat so it bypasses your tongue. It’s not that bad.” He reached out to rub Steve’s shoulder. “You taste better than most, Cap.”

Rogers looked at the door with apprehension. “I can’t believe they’ve waited out there this long.”

Stark caught Steve’s gaze, and pointed at his watch. “It’s only been a couple of minutes.”

Steve gawked at him in disbelief.

“Really,” Stark assured him, then chuckled. “Poor Cap. You must’ve needed that for awhile.”

“And you?” Rogers glanced briefly at Tony’s groin. “Did you… did that do anything for you?”

“Nope.” Stark grinned slyly. “That was just for you.”

Rogers frowned. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

Tony waved his hand dismissively. “I’m _old_. I can control my… ‘appetites’ ” He winked at Steve. “But not for too long.”

Stark stepped away, but Steve caught him with both arms and pulled him back, bringing their faces close again. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“To the Tower.”

“Not to the Raft?” Rogers asked doubtfully. “Or some army brig?”

Stark gazed in the mirror, straightening his clothes. “Three days from now, they’ll be taking you to Langley for _reassessment_. They were calling it ‘interrogation’, before I reminded them you were not a prisoner of war. There’ll be a lot of claptrap and posturing, and it’ll all be very boring. And long. But it has to be done, and you’ll have to keep your cool. And then you’ll have to sign the Accords.”

“Tony… ”

Stark held up a hand. “They’re being rewritten as we speak. I’ve heard rumors of a veto clause being added… ”

“Rewritten by who?”

“Respected lawyers specializing in international law. They'll make sure everyone's interests are taken into account. They're completely impartial. I should know, I’ve paid them off.”

“Tony!”

“It’s the only way we can assure we get the veto. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Rogers looked at Stark incredulously. “I didn’t want you to bribe people to get it done!”

“This is the way things work, Cap. Money always passes back and forth. _Shock_. _Horror_. You wanted to be able to opt out, if we needed to. This will do that.”

His face belied his utter fatigue. “Steve. I’m trying to do everything you want. For that to happen, one of us has to get his hands dirty.”

Stark paused, momentarily immersed in thought. Then he gave a small, miserable shrug of his tired shoulders. “It’s never gonna be enough, is it.”

Rogers breath hitched. He instantly felt like an enormous ingrate. He owes you nothing, his conscience roared at him. And you just want more, more, _more_ …

He pulled Stark back to him, taking both Stark’s arms in his hands, and looked into the discouraged face.

“Did I even say thank you?” he asked, with a regretful shake of his head. “I never even thanked you.” He hugged Stark tight. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Of course, you’re right. The results are what matter.”

He held Stark’s head close, stroking the dark hair. “I’m an asshole, Tony.” He pulled back and smiled ruefully. “You of all people should know that. I can be an asshole, a lot of the time.

“But I missed you so much. I thought about you all the time. It got _bad_.” He looked at Stark with naked longing. “Did you miss me, really? Or am I just another hassle?”

Tony reached an arm around Steve’s neck and pressed his forehead against Steve’s.

“You don’t know this, but pretty soon after Wanda got back, I started making serious plans to get on a plane and run off to Wakanda.” He spoke softly, his lips close to Steve’s. “I was running into so much resistance from so many idiots, and I thought, ‘Screw it. Just go live with him there. Ask for political asylum or whatever.’ ”

That was the darkest time, thought Rogers. When the messages stopped and his world turned black with isolation and rage. He remembered the all-consuming loneliness, the stagnant silences, the endless, despondent nights…

Now a vision of he and Stark spooned up together in his small bed in the quiet of the Wakandan compound flashed through Steve’s mind. He imagined the smoothness of Tony’s back, the smell of his dark hair, his half-engorged cock and balls in Steve’s hand… how his own cock would’ve felt nestled between Tony’s asscheeks, snugged against the small, warm hole…

“That… would’ve been awesome,” he muttered, in clear understatement. “That would’ve made that place the paradise it should’ve been.”

He tried desperately to stop his cock from stirring, and only partially succeeded.

“Yeah, for awhile,” Stark replied. “But being an outlaw gets old fast, even in paradise. Being home is better.” He gave Steve a soft kiss.

“You won’t be going through this alone. Rhodey and I will be with you the whole time. We’re part of your counsel.”

Rogers felt a twinge of shame at the mention of Rhodes. “Good. I’d like to see Rhodes again. I need to talk to him.”

Stark gave him an encouraging nod. “I’m sure Sam Wilson will show up at some point, too. Maybe even Natasha.”

“That would be great.” Rogers sighed in relief, and he felt his mouth curl into a reluctant smile.

Stark dropped his voice conspiratorially. “But you didn’t even notice the best part. I said you leave in three days. Until then, you stay at the Tower.”

“While I’m there, will they let me see you for a few minutes a day? So I don’t fall back down the rabbit hole?”

“Who?”

“Whoever will be guarding me.”

“No one’s gonna be guarding you. No one else will be there but me.”

“What?”

Stark looked at him slyly. “Yeah, you didn’t let me explain the fun part. I told them you would need a few days to rest and find your footing. And they bitched and threatened, of course, but they gave in eventually. You get three days to rest up at the Tower. You can’t leave or try to contact anyone, but other than that, you can do what you want.” Stark raised his eyebrows. “I’m supposed to ‘debrief’ you.”

Rogers looked at him, dumbfounded.

“That’s okay, isn’t it?”

Rogers nodded slowly, in shock. “That’s better than okay. That’s… I can’t believe you got them to agree to _that_.”

“Hey, this is a sweet deal I negotiated. Why do you think it took so long?”

Rogers slowly pulled Tony against him, and engulfed him in a deep kiss, parting Stark’s lips and tasting his tongue. He pressed their bodies together, from chest to crotch. A pleasant tingling flooded his groin.

“Nobody’s there,” Tony repeated against his mouth. “I sent the entire staff home for a short vacation. The Legionnaires are guarding the place.” He gave Rogers a wicked smile. “And they sure as shit don’t care what we do.”

The tingling in Rogers’ groin had turned into a full-blown erection. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard when we get there… ” he growled, with an evil smirk.

Stark quirked a brow at him. “ _Oooo_ , Captain America! Talkin’ dirty! What have they been teaching you over there in Africa?”

“…And that fuck’s gonna get harder every time you open that smartass mouth,” Rogers added, and his smirk widened into a full-blown smile, all perfect white teeth.

Stark shuddered against him, then abruptly pushed away.

“Okay, Rogers, sharpen up,” he said with mock sternness, studying himself in the mirror. “We hate each other, remember. Put on your trademark ‘I’m Captain America and I disapprove of Tony Stark’s very existence on principle’ face.

“Clean yourself up or whatever you need to do, and let’s get this show on the road.” He washed his hands, then cupped them under the faucet and took several drinks of water from them. The last, he swished around the inside of his mouth, before spitting it out.

Rogers ducked into a stall and was forced to wait several minutes for his erection to go down, before he could urinate. When he came back out, he also washed his hands and face, and smoothed down his hair.

“Do I look alright?” asked Stark, stepping away so Rogers could see him.

Steve flinched and pointed. “You need to brush off your pants.”

Tony looked down at the dust on the knees of his trousers. “Oh, right,” he said, without a trace of embarrassment. He quickly brushed off the dust with his palms. “Better?”

“Great. Let’s go.” Rogers suddenly couldn’t wait to get home.

“Hang on.” Stark took the hand restraints off the sink. “Here, put these back on.”

He smiled with pride, as he held them out. “I just came up with these. They’re brand new. Genius, huh?”

“What’s so 'genius' about them?”

Stark scowled at him. “Haven’t you noticed how comfortable they are? They automatically adjust to fit your wrists.”

He held up one cuff. “They do that with a retinal scanner. It’s right here.” He pointed to a small hole in the cuff. “It scans your eye, and then it knows how tight they need to be, and how much strength they need to withstand.”

He gestured at Steve’s hands, and Rogers held them out. Stark placed the cuffs near his wrists, and they jumped into place on their own, snapping shut.

“Yeah, that’s Captain America.” Tony spoke to them like he did to Dum-E and U, and he leered at Rogers. “Superhuman strength. Among other things. _Maximum_ restraint.”

His eyes raked hungrily over Steve’s body.

“That IS genius.” Steve raised an eyebrow. “Hmmm. Suddenly I can think of a lot of other uses for these.”

Tony laughed. “Let’s go. Before they come in and drag us out.”


	4. Covert Maneuvers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve return to Avengers Tower and spend some time alone together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Extreme smut alert. Very long chapter ahead.

They rode back to Avenger’s Tower in a nondescript hired car with heavily tinted windows. Eight huge guards with grim faces followed, in what looked like an outsized Humvee. Rogers heard Stark mutter, “So much for ‘under the radar’,” as he rolled his eyes at the huge vehicle.

Steve climbed in back of the car and Stark followed him, with the sternest expression he could muster, and shades hiding his telltale eyes. The sun was beginning to set, and the back of the car was dim and quiet. Neither of them spoke, Rogers from fear of saying something that would blow their charade, and Stark seemingly of sheer exhaustion.

The trip was long, and Rogers glimpsed Stark drifting in and out of sleep as they went. Tony’s head would loll to one side, and then jerk up as he tried to stay awake. As per Stark’s instructions, Steve stayed strictly hands-off.

Occasionally, Tony’s hand would unconsciously drift towards him as he dozed, and Rogers couldn’t resist moving his cuffed hands over so he could touch it. Which would cause Tony to jerk up, and move his hand away.

At last, they pulled up to the Tower, and Stark jolted to attention.

“Okay,” he declared, all business. “No one knows you’re here yet, so there should be no press. But we don’t want any bystanders to recognize you, so when that door opens, keep your head down and haul ass.”

He grabbed one of Steve’s hand restraints and simply said “Off”. They unclasped and fell off onto the car’s back seat.

The driver opened Stark’s door first, and Rogers didn’t wait. He scooted out behind Tony, which caused the nearest security to rush forward.

Stark scoffed dismissively. “Christ, will you guys relax! What do you think he’s going to do? He came back voluntarily, and there’s nowhere for him to go.”

He and Rogers sped inside, with the security force scrambling in behind them.

When they entered the lobby, the guards formed a circle around Rogers and the leader beckoned Stark over. Steve could only make out fragments of the conversation.

He heard Tony say, “I take full responsibility…” and “the armor will be here in seconds if I need it… “ The leader finally signaled the rest to withdraw, and they began to slowly move toward the entrance.

“I’ll call Ross as soon as I get up there,” Stark assured the leader, and they finally left.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Steve grabbed Stark and pulled him close.

“Let’s go to bed, Tony,” he rumbled in Stark’s ear.

“Cap’s suite, Friday,” Stark instructed the AI, as the elevator began ascending. “And turn off all interior cameras on eleven.”

He rested his head against Steve’s shoulder. “I tried to leave everything in your place the way it was. We did clean in there every couple of weeks. And I restocked your fridge, of course. But all your stuff is right where you left it.”

The doors opened, and Rogers stepped out. He attempted to pull Stark out with him, but the smaller man resisted, staying in the elevator. Steve moved back close.

“Are we going to bed, Tony?” he whispered plaintively, his lips so close Stark could feel his breath.

Stark gave him a soft kiss and pulled away. “Soon,” he assured. “I’ve got to do some things. Make some calls so these people feel they’re in the loop. Why don’t you go make yourself comfortable for a while? Take a shower and get a bite to eat.”

“Where are you going?”

“Up to my place. I need to get things squared away so we won’t be bothered. Then I’ll be back down. Shouldn’t take more than an hour, if that.”

He looked down at himself and wrinkled his nose. “I need a shower, too.”

Steve quirked a brow at him and grabbed his hand, pulling gently. “Come with?”

“No, Rogers, a solo shower. To get clean. I’m absolutely slimy.”

Steve nuzzled his neck. “No you’re not.”

“Are you kidding? I sucked some old pervert off in a public bathroom – I was crawling around on a filthy floor. And I need to brush my teeth.”

Stark winked at him. He stepped back into the elevator, and waved Rogers down the corridor.

“I’ll be down in no time. Go.” Then the door closed and he was gone.

* * *

Steve felt almost as if he had stepped into a time machine.

The suite was darkening in the dusk, and he remembered the feeling of perfect contentment he would have coming back from a hard day of training at this time of day, ready for dinner and a warm shower. It could have been yesterday, the memory was so strong. He could even recall the shadow patterns cast on the walls and across the floor.

Stark had respected Rogers’ space and his privacy, as he’d said. No matter how furious he must have been after Siberia, he had left Steve’s room and property almost untouched, and Rogers marveled at his self-control.

The room was not _completely_ as he’d left it… things had been added. “Smell-good” things. Stark had placed scented candles here and there throughout the room. They were not lit, but they still gave off a clean, sweet aroma. There were fresh flower arrangements on the nightstand, desk and bathroom cabinet.

Bowls of fruit were placed on the tables in the dining area and bedroom. And on that same bedroom table was a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. Stark knew Steve liked the taste of champagne, even though he couldn’t get drunk (which Rogers regretted, at the moment – he felt like celebrating). The ice had barely begun to melt, and if the staff had been sent home, that meant Stark had placed this here himself.

How strangely optimistic, for a man who tried to appear so cynical. Tony Stark was indeed a strange man, thought Rogers.

All these stereotypical, romantic little gifts… so out of step with Stark’s smooth, ultra-modern, playboy image. Clichéd and old-fashioned, like a love-struck schoolboy wooing a cheerleader.

A crueler man than Rogers might’ve laughed and thought them corny and ridiculous. But Steve’s heart was melting in his chest. How uncharacteristically… _sweet_ , he thought. Tony was lowering his guard at last. He wanted Steve to know he was cherished. So unlike him.

Rogers didn’t know what to do first. He looked into every closet and drawer, pulled books off the shelves and opened them, put them back. Opened the refrigerator and looked at all the treats. Took in the view of the sun setting over New York from his window.

The sunset glinted off something, leaning against the wall next to his desk.

The shield. Repaired and polished, waiting. The man who had snarled that he wasn’t worthy of it, that it was _Howard’s_ shield, at his retreating back… That same man had left it here for him, like nothing had happened.

It filled him with shame, this peace offering. He had felt greatly diminished without the shield, like he had lost a limb. He longed to pick it up. Now, he couldn’t.

It didn’t feel right. That was Captain America’s shield. And he realized, in alarm, that he wasn’t sure he wanted to be Captain America again. All the responsibilities that went with it, the expectations, the isolation… He had forgotten the dark side of it all.

All the interrogating and accusations Ross and his cronies would force on him, being dropped back into the thick of a world he had managed to convince himself he would never have to deal with again, shielded only by the promises of a small, erratic man that he was discovering he really didn’t know that well... It was all too much. Rogers was on the edge of panic. He desperately wanted to go back to Wakanda.

Then… he took a deep breath and forced his mind to quiet. This is silly, he told himself. He was a soldier. He was _the_ soldier. Compared to Nazis and Hydra and Chitauri, this was nothing. He was simply tired. And very hungry and dirty. One thing at a time.

He wolfed an apple and banana from one of the fruit bowls, and then slowly savored another apple. Then he went into the bathroom, shaved, and brushed his teeth.

Rogers was normally a shower guy, but now he felt like taking a bath. He started the water, and shucked his clothes, which he had a hunch smelled ripe enough to walk away on their own.

Then he went and got the champagne bottle, opened it and poured himself a glass (Tony had others in the fridge, so no need to wait for him), and moved both to the edge of the tub. He also brought in one of the candles and lighted it. Pine. He turned off the overhead lights, and settled into the full tub.

The water felt marvelous against his skin, and his whole body sighed. He went limp against the marble for a few minutes, still as a statue. I’m in heaven, he told himself. So why was he still anxious?

He downed his champagne, and then lathered up with scented, probably very expensive soap and scrubbed himself down. After rinsing off, he poured himself another glass and reclined in the tub, resting his head on the rim and closing his eyes. If this actually was a dream, better to enjoy it while he could.

* * *

He awoke with a start. The water in the tub was cold and the candle had burned down quite a bit. He was freezing. He had obviously been asleep for a while.

He jumped out of the bath and dried himself with a big, fluffy towel. Stark had supplied a bathrobe, which hung on a hook on the back of the door, but Rogers had never worn a robe in his life. Why get dressed at all, he thought. I’m in my own room, waiting to get laid. He stretched luxuriously. He was Tony Stark’s lover now, wasn’t he? He needed to learn to be a bit looser. He could hang around his own suite naked.

He went to his bedroom and checked the clock on the wall. Two hours had passed. He had been asleep in the tub almost two hours. And Stark was taking a long time with whatever it was he was doing.

He came back down to earth with a thud. He was a ninety-year-old man outside his era – he wasn’t comfortable without clothes, unless he was in the shower. He rifled around in his dresser, and found a favorite old pair of sweats, soft and familiar, and put them on. Then he retrieved the champagne and sat down in a familiar chair in front of the giant two-way mirror that was the opposite wall of his bedroom, and looked out over his beautiful view of New York.

The compound in Wakanda had been on acres of semi-cleared green space in the middle of the jungle, with plants and wildlife all around. The closest civilization had been the palace, and that was miles away. T’Challa had been very careful about giving his guests enough space. Rogers was in the habit of running around the grounds and through parts of the jungle when he felt antsy at night, without having to worry about prying eyes. He had grown used to it. Now he looked down on the lights and activity below and felt uneasy. Caged almost.

He had grown up in New York. The constant bustle had barely even registered, much less bothered him. Now once again, he would have to get used to his surroundings. He was tired of it. He could feel it wearing on him, and once again he thanked God and Dr. Erskine for the serum. He knew he would adjust much more quickly physically than an average guy, thanks to the serum, but mentally… He was feeling unmoored.

The life of a soldier in wartime had been one of constant movement, travel, survival in alien terrain. He had been excellent at it, a duck in water. He had also been in his twenties. Physically, he was still in his twenties. Mentally and emotionally, he was beginning to feel a difference. He was aging. His impulsiveness was fading and his need for connection, a home, was getting stronger. Suddenly, he wanted Bucky. Sam. Nat. _Tony_.

Where the hell was that man? He had said it would be an hour at most, but again, here was Rogers, waiting for Tony Stark. That was becoming the story of his life, Steve thought with irritation.

Stark had someone he had professed to care about, someone he desired, someone who had been waiting for him for _seven months_ , cooling his heels three floors below. And once again, he had found something more important to do. Didn’t he know how inconsiderate he was being? Rogers felt his temper flare.

Then, abruptly, some better impulse forced cognizance on him.

He had a fundamental understanding of who he was, and he believed it was accurate. He had his bad moments, but he knew he was basically a positive force. A good man. A good soldier. Not arrogant. Not greedy. Not cruel or power-hungry.

When he had been with Peggy, he had pictured what their future would be. They would marry and have a family, and he would love them unconditionally. Always take care of them. He would be faithful. A good husband. A good father.

But was he also… a selfish lover? A devouring partner? Potentially abusive even? Where was all this resentment coming from? And how bad was he going to let it get?

He knew this kind of man from the army, and the way he would treat his woman. Possessive and domineering when she was around. Jealous and paranoid when she wasn’t. And always needing to be the center of her attention. Her whole reason for existing. He had nothing but contempt for those men.

But he was treating Stark the same way. He didn’t trust Tony, and it wasn’t rational. Stark had done nothing wrong. From the time they had first acted on their romantic feelings for each other, Tony had only done exactly what he had told Steve he would do.

When Tony had bounded all over him in the airport men’s room, like a guileless, enthusiastic puppy, he had fully expected Steve to be just as happy to see _him_. It had never occurred to him that Rogers had been seething with rage at him for months. Expecting betrayal from him with absolutely no cause. Rogers’ guilt sunk its hooks into him.

Would he have been this way toward Peggy, in time? He had never made love with her. And he was coming to understand that this particular aggression was obviously sexual in nature.

For when Stark wasn’t here, he found himself thinking… why was Stark always in such a hurry to get away from him? What was Stark doing? Who was he talking to? Spending time with? Former lovers? Other, closer friends? Making plans that didn’t include Steve? Why was _anything_ more important than being with Steve?

It made him feel powerless, and, since he had emerged from Erskine’s lab, feeling powerless had energized and enraged him. A dark energy crouched inside him, ever vigilant, on the lookout for any opportunity to engage in combat. _Craving_ it.

He had known it all along, but hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself; this was the serum. It made him strong and quick. It sharpened him mentally and made his reflexes lightening fast. It was what focused him in battle.

But it also made him aggressive. Competitive. Hyper-reactive to stimuli. That was the flip side of the serum. And when Steve wasn’t in battle… he ran. He boxed and sparred. He took target practice. He did his best to control it. But it was always there, waiting.

And now, sex was in the equation. And it was making him fiercely possessive. He thought of his naked drawings of Stark. Drawing as if to _possess_.

Hydra’s winter soldier program was in the same constellation as the process Erskine had used to transform Steve. Rogers knew that a similar reaction to that procedure was part of what made Bucky so dangerous.

Bucky and the other Winter Soldiers. Banner. The Red Skull. The creature called The Abomination. A progression of men that had tried to use artificial means to transcend human limits. All had ended up badly damaged, plagued by abnormal, explosive rage. All except Steve Rogers… or so it had been thought. Steve now saw he was simply one end of the spectrum. The least obviously flawed in the group, but flawed all the same.

He made a vow to himself then and there, and he would keep it. He would not let himself become _this_. He was in control, and if he allowed himself to turn into a menace, it was on him, not Stark. He hated bullies, and he would protect Tony from them. Even if the bully was himself.

And now he needed to find Tony. Just to see that face. To tell him how glad he was that they were together now.

Stark’s suite was on fourteen. Rogers took a long, red rose from one of the flower arrangements, and headed up.

* * *

The door to Stark’s suite was closed. Steve knocked gently and then tried the knob. The door was unlocked, and he cracked it open.

“Tony?” he said in a low voice. He reached his arm into the room, waving the rose. No response. He stepped inside.

Stark’s suite was in complete chaos. Notebooks, papers and clothes were everywhere, filling every horizontal space and strewn all over the floor. Dirty coffee cups and dishes with crumbs and bits of leftover food were scattered here and there, waiting for attention. A great deal of activity had clearly been occurring in Tony’s suite, and the cleaning staff had not been there for quite awhile.

It was dim inside, except for the glow of a television screen next to Stark’s dresser, tuned to some news channel. Steve picked his way across the floor, unsuccessfully trying to avoid the mess, and peered into the sleeping area.

Across the foot of the unmade bed, a large, fluffy, white bath towel was spread out. In the middle of it, naked, was Stark. He was fast asleep. Steve could hear his deep, even breathing as he drew near.

His hair was wet from the shower, and he was curled up on his side, probably chilled from water-cooled skin. He must have been trying to catch a quick nap after washing, and had dropped off into oblivion instead.

The reflected light from the TV on the white towel cast a glow over Tony’s prone form, bathing him in a soft blue halo, making his skin look flawlessly smooth. His face looked slightly worried, even while relaxed in sleep.

Rogers took in the deep shadows that defined Stark’s naked body, his unguarded face, his well-proportioned cock, the full curve of his ass, and he caught his breath. He remembered that night, that body, and felt himself getting hard. Tony looked delectable, but… so small, curled sideways on that huge bed, so drained and still…

Steve fought off his erection. Tony needed to sleep. Steve watched Stark’s ribcage rise and fall, and he suddenly felt the months of anxiety and little sleep jump on his back. He was consumed with fatigue. All he wanted was to curl up with Stark and sleep.

He removed clothing and papers from the bed, and began to unravel twisted sheets and blankets. What the hell had Tony been up to in this room? Rogers thought of his clean suite, the scented candles, cool, fresh sheets… It seemed a shame to waste Stark’s sincere effort to provide a romantic atmosphere.

So he decided he wouldn’t. He scooped Tony up in his arms and wrapped the large towel securely around him. He was pliant and warm, and Steve moved his wrists under Stark’s knees and back to lift him in a bridal carry. (He didn’t have the heart to wake Tony from his dead sleep by throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of concrete.) Tony had said they were completely alone. No harm in changing beds.

Stark immediately startled awake, and Steve almost dropped him in surprise.

“What time is it?’ he mumbled, reflexively.

“It’s late,” Steve replied, in a whisper.

“I’m up. Just needed to rest my eyes for a sec,” Tony slurred vacantly, and tried to squirm into a sitting position in Steve’s arms, unaware of where he was.

“Shhh. Go back to sleep, I’ve got you. We’re just changing beds.”

Stark looked around with bleary eyes. “ Mmmkay,” he breathed, and abruptly dropped back to sleep, his head falling against Rogers’ chest.

Steve could smell his soap-clean scent, feel his body warmth and compactness, and his deep, even breaths. All that naked skin, just beneath that towel… Rogers wanted to lick it, to kiss it…

But Stark really needed an uninterrupted night of sleep. This could be tricky, thought Steve. It was a damn good thing he was so tired himself.

* * *

When he reached his suite, Steve headed directly to the bed. He awkwardly laid the cocooned Stark onto the spread, and pulled back the sheets and blankets. Then he unwrapped the sleeping man, lifted him again and moved him to the middle of the bed, trying not to stare at his exposed body. Stark didn’t stir as Rogers tucked him beneath the sheets, and nestled a pillow under his damp head.

Rogers lit several of the thicker candles and placed them around the room, and then switched off all of the suite’s lights. The flickering glow of the flames illuminated the room in soft candlelight. Perfect for deep sleep, thought Steve. Or lovemaking, later.

He began to climb into bed with Stark, still fully clothed in his sweats. When he lifted the covers, he glimpsed Stark’s smooth back. Instantaneously, he craved skin-to-skin contact, but didn’t want to risk pressing his naked crotch against Tony’s bare ass.

He stripped off just his sweatshirt, and slipped into bed behind Stark, spooning up to him, hugging Tony’s warm back flush against his bare chest. A sensation of peaceful pleasure washed over and through him, and his cock felt luxuriously sensitive.

Nothing he couldn’t handle, he told himself. It felt quite wonderful, in fact. He pressed his face against the back of Tony’s neck, smelling lemon shampoo, and fell instantly asleep.

* * *

He woke to the sensation of hands stroking his skin.

The room was dark, and the city lights were still shining through the huge window, but the faintest tinge of pink was beginning to smudge the reflections on the glass buildings of the city. The candles around the room burned on, filling the room with a sweet, floral smell. Rogers could tell it was very early in the morning.

Stark had turned onto his back, in Rogers’ arms, and was moving his hands softly up and down them, caressing the golden hair. His eyes were closed. Rogers noticed, with drowsy bemusement, that sometime in the night, Stark had found his discarded sweatshirt and was now wearing it.

“What’re you doing?” Steve whispered.

“Enjoying your sexy, perfect arms,” Tony rasped, his voice thick with sleep.

Steve gave a glance to the wall clock. Just after 4:40am.

“Good morning,” he said, and kissed the side of Tony’s head.

“Is any morning really _good?_ ” Stark replied, opening his eyes for a quick glance around. “Did you bring me down here?”

“Yep. Didn’t want to waste the atmosphere. You were out like a light up there.”

Tony gave a small sigh. “Sorry. Just wanted to close my eyes for a minute.”

Steve gathered him closer, under the warm covers. “Nothing to be sorry for. You were dog-tired… We’ve only been out a few hours. Sleep as long as you want.”

Tony turned his head and smirked at Steve. Even with heavy lids, he managed to quirk an eyebrow. “Not driving you crazy, am I?”

Steve chuckled. “No more than usual.” He ran his hands through Stark’s mussed hair. Then he nodded his head toward the shield leaning against the wall.

“Did you leave that for me?”

“Yeah…” Stark replied hesitantly, and Rogers could feel his embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he continued, and Steve could feel him squirm slightly. “It’s yours. He meant for you to have it. I had no right to take it away.”

“You had every right to take it away,” Rogers asserted. “Howard would’ve ripped it away himself if he’d been there. And then shot me!”

Stark snorted. “Whatever you say, Cap.”

“I’m serious. You were his son. No _friendship_ can rival that. You need to forgive him and believe that tape.”

Stark ducked his head and shrugged. “I have. I do… in my more lucid moments… ”

Steve gestured at the shield. “Then I hope you understand why I can’t take that back.”

Tony looked at him in confusion.

“Every time I look at it, I’m gonna remember that… ” Rogers didn’t know how to put it tactfully. “I’m gonna think about that whole debacle in Siberia. Too many bad feelings associated with it now.”

“Oh, bullshit, Rogers.” Tony gave him hard look. “Get over it. Do you know how many bad feelings I associate with _you?_ And I’m handling it.”

Steve smiled. “Nice try, but that’s the way it is. It’s not a part of me anymore. And it needs to be, for me to be able to use it the way it’s supposed to be used.”

“Well… “ Steve could almost see the wheels turning behind Stark’s eyes. “… I had already been thinking that you were due for an upgrade. You’re the only one who’s still using version 1.0 of their weapon. I can bang together some specs for a new one when I get some time, and we’ll see what you think.”

Steve shook his head. “And… Stark to the rescue. All I have to do is mention some problem.”

“Consider it an apology for how low-energy I’ve been. After I promised you a three-day sexathon.”

Steve kissed him on the face, and wrapped his arms more tightly around Stark.

“Don’t be idiotic, Tony. This is all I’ve wanted,” he said, in a hushed voice. “Just to be here, with you. I’ve slept and woken now, and I’m still here. And you’re still here. So I can relax, now I know this isn’t a dream.” He pressed his forehead against Tony’s cheek.

“You thought this was a dream?” Rogers felt the smile.

“I’ve had this dream. Exactly.” Steve’s voice turned serious. “Over and over, after Wanda left. In a bunch of different settings, under a lot of different circumstances. But always ending with you and me. Together. I’ve been expecting to wake up back in Wakanda since I boarded that plane.”

Tony turned his head back to the ceiling. “Wanda,” he mouthed.

“How is she?” Steve had been unsure about asking.

“She’s fine.” Tony closed his eyes. Steve could tell it was an effort for him to keep them open.

“She’s in a facility upstate, a rehab hospital. For military personnel with PTSD. Their specialty. From what I hear, she’s been the ideal patient.”

“Does she still seem depressed to you?”

Stark opened his eyes and met Steve’s gaze. “I haven’t talked to her. Haven’t even seen her.” His facial expression chilled just slightly. “Vision’s there with her. He says she’s making progress. It’s really not my business.”

Steve rubbed Tony’s shoulder and wished he hadn’t brought it up. “She owes you a lot. I hope you know I realize that, even if she doesn’t.”

Stark looked away and shrugged.

“She’s young,” Rogers continued. “She’ll get it someday. You and she will be friends, eventually. I know it.”

“We’ll see. Doesn’t really matter.” Stark tried to sound nonchalant. He closed his eyes and turned over, facing away, but also wiggled backwards, closer. Rogers wrapped an arm around him and exhaled in relief, then softly nuzzled the back of Stark’s neck.

“The Avengers owe you. Especially me. You’ve been through the wringer, I can tell.”

“It’s alright, Cap. Really.” There was an edge to Stark’s voice.

“The rest have thanked you, right?”

Stark hesitated, and Steve’s heart sank.

“Being taken for granted is sorta my thing,” Tony finally said, flippantly. “Anyway. Sam thanked me.”

Rogers clenched his jaw. “The others will be hearing from me.”

Stark laughed now. “Don’t bother, Cap. All this didn’t come from a pure heart or anything. I did it for me, mainly. Because I wanted to see you again. I don’t really care about the rest.”

“Why do you care about me?” Steve genuinely wanted to know.

Now Stark turned all the way over to face him.

“Uh, I don’t know. Because you’re Captain America?” Tony gave him a soft kiss on the lips. “Because you’re so sexy and beautiful?”

That troubled Steve. “Tony… I haven’t always been sexy and beautiful.”

“Sure,” Stark said sarcastically.

“I haven’t!” Steve was suddenly wide-awake and hurt. He propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at Stark. “I was scrawny and weak. Ugly.”

He leaned in and fired at Stark’s weak spot. “And even shorter than you!”

Stark didn’t bat an eyelash. “Well, you might’ve been scrawny and short, but you’ve never been ugly.”

And now Tony propped himself up too, and pushed his face close to Steve’s.

“I know all about you, Rogers. I’ve heard about you since I was a kid. How honorable you were. Selfless. Compassionate. And that was before the serum.”

Steve held his breath, waiting for the knockout punch, but Stark wasn’t mocking him. Not at all.

“Howard Stark told me all that,” Tony continued. “And he was not one to believe in bullshit. He admired no one, except you.” He rolled his eyes up in thought. “And maybe Peggy Carter.”

Rogers was frozen in place, his mouth open in surprise, as Tony lowered himself back down on the bed and looked up into his face. “It takes a hell of a man to fight that hard for the dubious privilege of dying for his country. And I’ve seen pictures of you back then. You were quite adorable.”

Steve couldn’t believe Stark wasn’t going to burst out laughing any second.

“Yeah, right,” he replied skeptically. “But you wouldn’t have wanted to go to bed with me back then… without all this… ”

Steve gestured up and down his muscled torso. He was afraid of appearing boastful, but he didn’t know how else to put it.

“What do you know, Rogers?” Stark slid his eyes sideways at him. “I happen to have highly eclectic tastes. Don’t pigeonhole me.” He quirked a sardonic smile at Steve, and closed his eyes.

Rogers felt a slow, warm wave of adrenaline move over and through him. The idea that Stark was only into him because of his good looks had always made Steve feel uneasy, even though he knew that could hardly be helped. Now he practically vibrated with joy. For maybe the first time in his life, the skinny, pre-serum Steve that still hid inside felt attractive. And wanted.

“The real question is…” Stark continued, “…do you just want me for my _money?_ ” He smiled mischievously, his eyes still closed.

“No. I like you for your brains.” Steve lowered himself onto Tony and engulfed him in his arms. “And your extremely beautiful face.”

“So what happens if after a brutal battle, the helmet opens, and I’m terribly mangled and disfigured?”

“Then you’re out. It’s over,” Steve smirked. He kissed Tony’s ear and rested his head against the dark hair.

Rogers knew from sparring with Stark that he was actually hard-muscled and fit, in contrast to his desk jockey image. But now he was relaxed and pliant underneath Steve, and Rogers could feel the dense warmth of the small body swimming inside his oversized sweatshirt, naked from the waist down.

He tucked his head under the shorter man’s chin, running his lips softly over Stark’s throat, kissing the pulse in his neck. Tony sighed, and moved his hands to Steve’s back.

Rogers shifted his pelvis between Stark’s legs and felt Tony’s exposed cock and balls warm against his clothed groin. Steve’s cock had been half-aroused and sensitive almost all night, but now it snapped to attention. He struggled to think of something to say that would make Stark feel as loved as he had just made Steve feel. Everything seemed like just a cliché.

He settled for whispering in Stark’s ear, “I drew naked pictures of you while I was in Africa.” He flicked out his tongue and touched the edge of Tony’s ear.

Stark looked at him doubtfully. “Please tell me you didn’t leave them there for someone to find.”

“No, I threw them away,” Steve fibbed. (They were in his duffle bag. He had to remember to destroy those, before Stark stumbled across them.) “I did them from memory, they weren’t very good.”

He kissed and nuzzled Stark’s neck. “But I’ll do better, now I have access to the source material.” He moved his hands down to Stark’s ass and cupped both smooth cheeks in his palms, squeezing gently.

“No way, soldier,” Stark rasped into the blond hair.

Steve lifted his head and looked Stark in the face.

“Why not? It’ll be fun.”

Stark looked away, and Rogers thought, with fascination, that he might’ve even _blushed_.

“Oh my God. You’re shy!” Steve said with a wicked smile.

“Shut up.”

“Mister Playboy-Billionaire-Genius is shy! Who’d a thought?”

“Shut up, Cap.”

“Really, what’s this about?” Steve slid off Tony and propped himself up on one elbow. “I’ve seen sex tapes of you on the web.”

Stark turned his head and looked pointedly at Rogers, with his brows lowered. Steve didn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding emphatically. “And you didn’t seem bothered at all. But you get all bashful when I ask you to pose for me?”

Stark gave an irritated huff. “I’m not _bashful_. I just don’t want you gawping at me for an extended period of time…” He met Rogers’ eyes, then looked away, flustered. “…With your giant, blond face.”

Rogers threw back his head and gave a short, sharp laugh. “My giant face? Oh my God! That’s _weak_ , Stark!”

“I’m goin’ back to sleep.” Stark rolled over and turned his back to Steve, trying to seem exasperated, but Rogers had had a hunch, since London, that Tony didn’t want to give Steve a close look at his body. He hadn’t seemed concerned about shucking his trousers then, but it had been a struggle to get him to take off his shirt.

And apparently, when he woke very early this morning, the first thing he had done was to find Steve’s discarded sweatshirt and put it on.

Rogers sensed the truth now, and felt a stab of pain in his heart. Tony was ashamed of his chest, and the way it measured up to Steve’s. The _real_ Steve Rogers, the skinny kid from Brooklyn, flashed back to his basic training days and understood the feeling completely.

Steve reached out and grabbed Stark with both arms, pulling Tony’s clothed back and bare ass against his chest and crotch. His cock, still constrained in his old, worn sweatpants, was rock hard.

“I wouldn’t gawp, Stark,” Rogers murmured, running his hands over Stark’s clothed chest. “I would admire.”

He slid lower against Stark, and pressed his forehead into the small of Tony’s back. He lifted the sweatshirt slightly, and pressed a kiss to Tony’s backbone. “I would _worship_.”

Stark glanced briefly over his shoulder and scoffed. “Gimme a break.” He rolled onto his stomach and turned his head away from Rogers.

“I thought you were going to sleep. Don’t let me stop you.” Steve pushed the sweatshirt up further, exposing most of Stark’s smooth back, and placed open-mouthed kisses along his spine, then ran his tongue back down it, toward Stark’s tailbone.

“I love this curve,” he whispered.

“What?” mumbled Stark.

“Nothing.” He kissed and licked the indentation over Tony’s coccyx, then cupped both Stark’s asscheeks in his hands, and squeezed gently.

“And _this_ is just…” he muttered, but couldn’t finish the thought.

He kissed and nuzzled along one cheek, rubbing his face against it, then gently bit and nibbled underneath, where Tony’s ass and thigh met, and the skin was particularly soft. The full cheeks dimpled slightly, then relaxed again, as Stark wriggled almost imperceptibly.

“That tickles, Cap.” He was trying to sound disinterested.

Rogers rolled his tongue back and forth along the bottom of the cheek, and then trailed his tongue down one of Stark’s legs, and inside one thigh. Tony’s inner thighs were almost hairless, and the skin was like suede. Steve slid his mouth against one, and kissed all the way to the knee, then settled down between Stark’s legs and turned on his side to gaze back up the mattress at Stark’s body.

Tony’s buttocks faced upwards, two mounds of perfection, and Steve could see the rounded little perineum beneath. He caressed the back of Stark’s legs with his hands, squeezing his thighs and calves, taking in the sight.

“What… are you _doing_ down there?” Stark grumbled.

“My giant face and I are looking for the best angle. It’s going to be hard to pick just one.”

“Well, that’s a repelling view from down _there_.”

“Says you,” Rogers smirked. “I love this view.”

He wormed his hand under Tony to his front, and gently pulled his balls and the tip of his cock back, so it showed under his perineum.

“Knock it off,” Tony growled.

Steve was staring from below at the way he’d arranged Tony’s privates, too engrossed to notice the surly tone.

“This is so… cute!” he said with delight. “It’s like a little still-life! A little bowl of sex fruit!”

Stark finally glanced down. “You sound completely sloshed, Rogers. Are you sure you can’t get drunk?”

He gave a small flick of his hips, and his cock and balls slipped back out of sight, against the mattress.

“I need to do a whole series of drawings, Tony,” Steve murmured against Stark’s inner thigh.

“Like hell you will.”

“Not for the public, you lunatic. Just for me.” He edged back up toward Tony’s ass, close enough for Stark to feel Steve’s breath against his perineum. “It’ll be hot.”

Stark snorted. “Yeah, and when we hate each other in a couple of years, they’re all over the net.”

Rogers chuckled. His cock throbbed with need, but he was enjoying the arousal, the slight pain in his swollen balls. His face was just inches from Tony’s perineum, the round little “taint” he found so irresistible.

He reached his hands up and spread Stark’s thighs just a little farther apart, then moved his arms under Tony’s hips and wormed his shoulders beneath Stark’s thighs, giving him easy access to the spot. He pressed his nose into it, feeling the warmth.

Stark froze, and his legs went rigid. Rogers sensed his apprehension, but Tony didn’t tell him to stop. He rubbed his face against Stark’s taint, and then began kissing it with opens lips, sucking lightly. Tony arched up, then forced himself to relax and lowered his hips back onto Rogers’ arms. Steve reached under for Stark’s cock, and felt Tony’s hand there already. He was slowing stroking himself, and Steve could feel his erection.

“That good?” he whispered.

Stark stayed quiet.

The candlelight cast a soft, orange light over the room, outlining the curves of Tony’s ass, and Steve, with his face so close, could view his most private areas in the dim glow.

He studied Tony’s taint up close, the little seam that bisected it and then dove into Tony’s asshole, and he touched it softly with his tongue. He was repaid with a small clenching of Stark’s asscheeks and a visible shudder that traveled all the way up his spine.

Rogers reached up and gently parted Tony’s asscheeks with his palms and thumbs, exposing his hole, pink and vulnerable. He had never thought Stark would allow him this kind of intimacy, and he was lightheaded with how powerful and possessive it made him feel.

As small and tight as it looked up close, Steve found it hard to believe that hole had opened enough to take his huge erection. He pretended it was a little, pink mouth, that had to be readied to suck his cock, as Tony’s other mouth had done just a few hours before, though now it seemed a lifetime ago. His cock was throbbing so hard it was pounding in his ears.

“Tony, you’re so… _naked_ ,” he growled, his voice so low he hardly recognized it himself. He pushed his shoulders forward and hitched Tony’s hips up higher off the bed. “Let me see you more naked than any other man has before,” he urged, and bit one round cheek suggestively close to Stark’s hole, sinking his teeth in just enough for Tony to feel pressure, but not enough to leave a mark.

Stark groaned loudly, and squirmed on Rogers’ shoulders, as Steve continued to firmly hold Tony’s asscheeks open. He could see the little hole tightening and relaxing spasmodically, and his mouth practically watered. He moved his face closer to the small opening, so close that Stark could feel his breath on it, and now, he reacted, jackknifing his body and pulling his buttocks away.

“Don’t do that, Cap,” he warned.

Steve grabbed his thighs firmly, lifting his lower body and positioning it back close. He spread Tony’s cheeks again.

“I wanna draw this,” he mumbled, simply because he couldn’t think of anything dirtier to say. He kissed the little taint again, nibbling at it, moving his lips closer to that hole…

“You won’t like that, Rogers,” Tony said, more emphatically. “The… uh… _aesthetic_ features… ”

Steve smiled to himself. Sometimes Tony treated him like he also was a pampered rich kid, brought up in a spotless mansion with maid service.

In his first life, his full-time home was any army barracks to which he was assigned, and one thing they all had in common was that they frequently smelled like male ass. It barely registered to him anymore, much less offended him, especially when his cock was hard as vibranium.

“I got this,” he whispered.

He lightly nipped the seam, then ran his tongue up it until he reached Stark’s asshole. He flicked his tongue against it, and Tony’s whole body tensed. The scent was musky, pungent, but not overpowering, and Steve kissed the opening softly, resting his lips against it, feeling it quiver in response. It was warm and responsive, and Steve opened his mouth and pressed his tongue flat against it.

He heard Stark say “Oh, fuck…” in a shaky, barely audible whisper.

He began to kiss the hole slowly, deliberately, with open lips, the same way he had kissed Tony’s mouth in London, swirling his tongue around it. He pressed into the center and forced the hole to open the tiniest bit, breaching it with just the tip of his tongue. Stark held his breath, and from the corner of his eye, Steve saw him release his cock and grab the bed sheets with both fists, bracing for whatever Rogers decided to do next.

The impulse to _own_ suddenly overwhelmed Rogers, and in one aggressive motion, he parted Tony’s cheeks almost painfully wide, and plunged his wet tongue deep into the tender hole.

“Nnnnng!” Tony groaned, turning his head back toward Steve, and tried to roll his hips away, but Steve held his buttocks in a vise-like grip. He thrust his tongue hard inside a couple of times, then pulled out.

“Relax, Tony,” he breathed, massaging Stark’s cheeks with his hands, his lips close enough for Stark to feel them move against his hole. “Trust me.” He kissed the hole softly. “Open up for me.”

Rogers felt Stark tentatively lower his thighs back onto Steve’s arms and shoulders, and saw his fists unclench from the sheets, though his hands still shook. He exhaled slowly and lowered his face back onto the pillow, closing his eyes.

Steve turned back toward the vulnerable hole, and began to kiss it deeply, burying his tongue again and again. Tony’s insides were tight and smooth, with a sour, earthy taste. Steve realized, through a haze of desire, that he now had free access to Tony’s most private part, and he reveled in the power of prying it open over and over with his tongue, exploring as thoroughly as he wished.

He felt the coarseness of the sinewy ring, the clenched, creamy softness of the inner walls, and wished he could see Stark’s facial expressions as he was being devoured. He imagined Tony’s beautiful face flushed and sweaty, his huge brown eyes narrowed and glistening, his lips parted and wet.

Steve growled with arousal, and began to lightly scrape the pink ring with his teeth, as he dug in with his tongue. He heard Tony whimper, and noticed for the first time that Stark’s inner thighs were damp with sweat. His hole was slick with saliva.

Rogers fought, with all his might, not to touch himself. He wanted to prolong this as much as possible, to make Tony beg for more. He could hear Stark’s “ _nnng, nnng, nnng_ ” groans every time Steve’s tongue plunged into his ass, but he had stopped trying to wriggle away. The only movement Rogers could feel from Tony now was the rising and falling of his chest as he panted, and a clutching of his channel as he was licked inside.

Steve forced his tongue in harder, deeper, pushing the tip up and down the soft lining of Stark’s ass. Hot, yielding velvet sheathed his tongue.

Tony’s asshole was tender and defenseless now, and Steve noticed he was hitching his hips forward just the tiniest little bit, and his breath was coming in short, quick gasps. Rogers had Stark positioned so his pelvis was lifted off the bed, and he was frantically trying to touch the head of his cock to the mattress, seeking whatever friction he could reach, as Steve continued to probe inside with his tongue.

Finally, Steve withdrew to drink in the sight of Tony’s wet hole and round cheeks, and his smooth, arched back. The image made his breath catch in his chest. He gave the little, pink opening one last kiss, and then inserted his long index finger deep inside, in one forceful motion.

“Oh, _shittttt_ ,” Tony moaned in a low, shaking voice, and his whole body shuddered. His silky channel clamped onto Steve’s finger, and then began to pulsate, as his asscheeks tightened rhythmically, and Rogers realized Tony was coming. Neither he nor Steve had so much as touched his cock.

He squirmed on Steve’s finger like a fish on a hook, emptying himself into the sheets.

Steve watched in fascination, as if Stark was the only thing on earth. His cock was way past hard, almost painfully sensitive, and he was dizzy with lust, heat and the smell of musk.

At last, Stark finished and slumped forward, fully relaxing his legs onto Steve’s shoulders and back. He dropped his head on the pillow with an exhausted sigh, and Rogers could no longer control himself.

He lurched onto his knees, jerked his finger from Stark’s hole, and thrashed around on the bed until he had freed himself from his sweatpants and tossed them on the floor.

He grabbed Tony’s hips, yanking Tony’s body backwards until he was fully underneath Steve. His warm ass pressed against Steve’s lower abdomen, and Rogers filled his hands with Stark’s asscheeks and again spread them apart. He dug between them with his naked pelvis until he could feel the wet, little hole rub against his skin.

He reached for his own rock-hard cock and positioned the throbbing head against the warm, tender entrance. The sudden contact after such prolonged anticipation sent a tidal wave of pleasure through Steve’s cock and balls and up his spine, and he had to brace himself to keep from passing out.

He gave his hips a quick, hard grind against Stark’s cheeks, and then pushed his whole weight down, sinking his huge cock deep inside, stretching Stark’s hole wide open, slowly, slowly, until he was fully sheathed in warm, wet silk.

Stark gave a loud, drawn out groan of bewilderment. His tight asshole contracted helplessly around the base of Steve’s thick cock, and Rogers wrapped his arms around him like steel cables, holding them both stock-still. He imagined the stinging pain Tony was feeling in his pink hole, and the dark part of him savored the power of inflicting it.

Steve felt Stark’s ass give three last, weak squeezes around his cock, and then Tony’s entire body unclenched, all his muscles going slack with fatigue. His hole opened in submission, unable to resist Rogers’ strength any longer.

Rogers canted his hips and drove forward, and Tony’s entire lower body lifted and moved with him. Stark’s asshole was so taut around Steve’s cock, it couldn’t slide without assistance. Steve saw Tony open his mouth in a soundless protest, his eyes shut tightly.

Rogers wanted desperately to maintain his position, to see his cock plunging into Tony’s full ass. To watch himself _fuck_ Tony. But despite how voracious he was, it felt rude, to Steve, to just plant a hand on Stark’s back and hold him still, like an object…

The sight of Stark’s hands clenching reflexively in the dim light gave Steve an idea, and he silently thanked God and fate that he was so much taller than Tony. He leaned over Stark’s back, clasping the backs of Stark’s hands in his, lowering his forearms onto Stark’s, and anchoring him against the bed. Again, he pushed into Stark, lowering his forehead against the back of Tony’s neck, weighting down his upper body.

When he pulled back this time, he felt Stark’s insides slide snugly away, igniting liquid sparks along his cock, and he nearly crushed Tony’s hands in his grip. He drove forward again and again, feeling his vibranium cock sink past Stark’s tight, course ring and bury itself deep in warm, creamy satin.

When Rogers had fucked Stark in London, they had been face to face, with Stark’s legs over his shoulders. During his exile, he had frequently jerked off to the memory of slamming against the backs of Tony’s hard thighs, into his soft tunnel, the juxtaposition of hard and soft textures adding to the intensity. He could remember it like it had happened an hour ago.

Now, with Stark’s belly against the mattress and his ass upturned, his exhausted asscheeks unable to clench, his body was soft and inviting, and Rogers felt he was thrusting into firm, round cushions. Red flashes of sensation pulsed through him, as he buried his cock again and again in sweet pleasure. He could feel he was right on the edge, but he wanted more, needed just a little bit more…

Tony’s ass channel was now slick and relaxed enough to slide on its own, and Rogers pushed himself up and back, so he could see Tony’s open, bewildered hole sucking his cock. The force of his thrusts caused Stark’s full asscheeks to jiggle slightly on impact, and Tony exhaled shallowly and gave an almost imperceptible “nng” every time Steve reached his deepest parts. Both he and Rogers were sheened in sweat. The smell of musk and hot perspiration filled Steve’s nostrils, reminding him somehow of the smell of baking bread.

The pressure in Rogers’ balls was now almost uncontainable, and his not-so-hidden possessive streak flared up. He released Stark’s hands, and took Tony’s asscheeks in his palms, opening them wide for the best view, his thumbs close to the little, sucking mouth. He drove in fiercely, awash in sensation, his thumbs wedged against Tony’s tender hole, and during a particularly deep series of thrusts, one of his thumbs slipped in alongside his cock.

Tony exhaled with a loud “ohh!” and his asshole clenched, the cheeks quivering. He squirmed around Steve’s huge erection. Steve smiled wickedly, feeling the sudden snug warmth around his thumb, and he pushed it in next to his cock, as deep as it could go, spreading Stark’s hole impossibly wider.

“That was a good one, huh?” he hissed wetly in Stark’s ear, jamming the thumb deep once again. “You like that… Tonyyy… ?“ He pressed his tongue into Tony’s ear. And then he felt himself being lifted up from the bed.

Stark hunched his back, drawing his arms under him, and pushed up against Steve’s chest. His ass clutched and spiraled around Steve’s cock, like it was trying to swallow him deeper. His thighs and calves were fully flexed and his toes curled tightly.

He slammed his ass back against Steve, gulping mouthfuls of air, his tunnel pulsating, and Rogers realized that Tony was coming. _Again_.

Stark was in his mid-forties, at least, and this should have been impossible, but Rogers was certain. He watched with amazement as Tony writhed, twisting and corkscrewing his asshole around Rogers, jerking his own cock with one hand, and leaving claw marks on the mattress with the other. His channel clamped down on Steve, with a grip so hard Rogers thought his cock might not even have enough space to throb.

Lights exploded behind Steve’s eyelids, and he grabbed Stark’s hips with all his strength, wrestling him backwards. He tried to forcibly continue thrusting into Stark’s tightness, fighting Tony for the orgasm, and succeeded in wedging himself deep inside one last time.

“Steve!” Tony yelped, freezing against Rogers, as Steve wrapped his arms around him. Both of them crouched in stillness, and the only movement Steve felt was the last few clenches of Tony’s hole. Then Stark collapsed in his arms, and Rogers engulfed him.

He cupped Stark’s jaw in one hand and yanked Stark’s head up into the curve of his shoulder and neck. He held them both on their knees in a crouch, angling Stark so he could pound upward into him, using Tony’s own weight to sink as deep as possible. He hammered Tony’s ass mercilessly, his face pressed against the side of Stark’s, listening to his panting. The sound of Tony’s short, agonized breaths as he was fucked in his (no-doubt) now throbbing hole, finally pushed Rogers over the edge.

He had held out for so long, his cock ached as hot cum burned a trail through its length and out the slit, making the pleasure blindingly intense as he pounded the thick liquid up Tony’s ass.

His climax surged outwards in blazing waves that washed over him, from the root of his balls, through his cock, across his hard lower abdomen, before dissipating in gentle pulses somewhere around his tailbone.

Then his world went white.


	5. Peace Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony attempt to talk about their relationship.

“Steve.”

That was Tony’s voice. Coming from far away.

“Steve.”

No. It was coming from directly underneath him.

He was on top of a facedown Stark. Steve felt the small body pressed underneath him, damp with exertion, rising and falling with slow, deep breaths.

How long had he been out? He was completely disoriented. It could’ve been for a few seconds, or days.

“Tony?” he rasped, into an ear almost directly next to his mouth. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He felt the movement of Stark’s jaw. “The question is, are _you_ okay?”

Stark’s face was turned away from Rogers, so he couldn’t read Tony’s expression, but his voice was full of concern. He shifted his hips as he tried to turn his head to look at Steve, and only then did Rogers feel his soft cock slip out. Stark rolled his eyeballs back toward Rogers.

“You landed on me like a bag of sand. I thought you’d dropped dead for a second. Good thing I could feel your heart beating.”

Rogers gave a quick shake of his head, like a dog trying to shed water. “I think I passed out.”

“You _did_.” Stark squeezed one of Steve’s hands in his. “Wow, that’s a first,” he said dryly. “I mean, without the assistance of alcohol.”

“How long was I out?”

Tony paused in thought. “Ten seconds, maybe.”

Rogers rubbed his forehead in confusion. “That was a lightening strike. Don’t get me wrong, it was _incredible_ … I’m still kind of dizzy.”

“That’s the second time. It sort of happened in London, too. For a few seconds. I thought you were just lost in the moment then, but you were _out_.”

“I don’t remember. Weird.” He turned his head to look at Stark’s face. “I sure as hell remember everything else about that night.”

“Should we be worried?” Stark’s face was troubled.

Steve lowered his face back against Stark’s, and Tony felt him chuckle. “Well… I guess if I die, it’s better to do it with a smile on my face.”

“I’m serious,” Stark growled. “And damn you for making me say that, Cap. That’s your line.”

“I’m not worried.” Steve smiled, teasingly. “Cheer up, Stark. You’ve got concrete proof that you’re mind-blowing in bed… ”

Tony didn’t look amused. “Has anyone else noticed that you do that?”

“Hasn’t happened with anyone else but you.”

“Bullshit, Rogers. You’re no virgin.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Steve sifted his memories. “I’ve been with women, but that… didn’t happen. I came, but not like that.”

“That’s… troubling.”

“Not for me.” Steve frowned. “Tony, I’m alright. I’m not having trouble breathing, my heart’s beating just fine, there’s no pain at all… I’m not feeling any distress, and I think I _would_ , if something bad was happening.”

Stark was quiet for a minute. Then he asked, tentatively, “But… you enjoyed it?”

“Oh, _hell_ yeah.” He nuzzled against the back of Tony’s neck. “It’s _intense_. That might be part of the problem… ”

“It’s the serum,” Stark said flatly.

He knew. Of course he did, thought Steve. His Tony was the most brilliant person on the planet. He had probably figured it out before Steve himself did.

“It’s messing with your limbic system, brain chemicals, something,” Stark continued. “It’s almost impossible to isolate and boost just one thing, without others knocking on. And we both do get pretty worked up.”

Rogers looked at him questioningly. “I thought biology wasn’t your thing.”

“It’s not. I had to research something called Extremis, I think it was a distant cousin to Banner’s stuff… They kept it out of the news at the time, so… ” Stark shrugged. “I’ll tell you all about it sometime, if we’ve both got three years to kill and there’s absolutely nothing else left in the universe to talk about.

“But if the processes are similar, there’s a pretty good chance it’ll let up when you adjust to getting laid on a regular basis. I don’t think it’s dangerous… Well, _I_ might get crushed when Captain America falls on me like a meteorite, but I think _you’re_ okay. We’ll have to keep an eye on it for awhile.”

Stark closed his eyes. His lashes were long and dark against his cheekbones, and Rogers’ stolen sweatshirt was pushed up to his armpits. Steve reached up to caress his bare back.

“Works for me.” Rogers sighed. “All I want is to lay in bed with you and be happy in love for a few minutes. Think we can manage that?”

Steve lifted himself gently off Tony, shifting to his side. He stroked the back of Stark’s dark head, feeling the dampness of his hair. “Believe me, it won’t stop me from fucking you again… ”

“OW!! _Shit!_ Sonuva… !” Tony snarled suddenly, grabbing the back of his own neck.

Steve startled and sat up. “What is it?”

“I can’t turn my fucking head! Fuck!” Stark stiffened in pain. He reached slowly up with both of his hands and lifted his own head, turning it carefully down towards the mattress. “And I think I’ve torn something in my shoulder.” He reached around with one hand to rub the junction of his shoulder and neck. ”Shit, shit, shit, that hurts!”

“I’m sorry, Tony,” stammered Rogers. “I didn’t mean to… ”

“It’s not you,” Stark snapped. “It’s me. I’m too fucking _old!_ ”

He pulled his arms and legs under him, folding into a child’s crouch, then rolled over onto his side, toward Steve. His face was scrunched up in agony. “Christ, my neck.” He reached up to rub it again.

Steve’s manner changed from lustful to comforting in the blink of an eye. He reached out to touch Stark’s neck.

“Let me do it. Show me where.”

“Here.” Tony grimaced as he moved Steve’s hand to the sinewy cord under his ear.

Steve leaned over him as he massaged the stiff muscle with both his big hands, looking into Stark’s face. After a few minutes, Tony relaxed his expression.

“Is that better?” Rogers whispered.

“Yeah,” Tony grumbled. “Can’t keep my head turned at that angle.” He looked frustrated and embarrassed. “Too old and stiff. Wasn’t paying attention.”

“Sorry, I’m too heavy to be laying on you… ”

“No. I can’t tie myself into a pretzel like I used to. I’m not a kid anymore. Gotta face that fact.” Stark tried to sound flippant, but his voice dripped sadness, and Steve felt a pang in his heart.

“I was being too rough, Tony. I knew it.” Steve looked earnestly into Tony’s face, with questioning eyes. “I’m still new at this. I’ll be gentler next time. Okay?”

Tony touched Steve’s face with his hand. “You’re sweet, Cap,” he said, as if to a child. Then he closed his eyes.

Rogers rested his forehead against Stark’s, and continued to massage his neck and shoulders. “Sorry I hurt you,” he said, kissing the bridge of Tony’s nose. “Did you… like it up ‘til then?”

Stark chuckled, looking at Steve underneath heavy lids. “You’re amazing, Rogers.”

Steve smiled shyly, blushing.

He gazed down at Tony, swimming in the oversized sweatshirt, naked from the waist down, sleepy eyes, dark hair a mess. His eyes followed the little, black wedge of pubic hair, down to Stark’s cock and balls, nestled against a thigh.

“Gonna get hard again, looking at you,” he whispered, meeting Stark’s gaze. “Do you wanna… go again… ?” He reached around to cup Stark’s ass, and gently squeezed.

Stark immediately winced. “Yeah... maybe not,” he gasped.

“Oh, shit,” Rogers blurted, pulling his arms back. “I _did_ hurt you.” His hands moved anxiously up and down Tony’s back, beneath the sweatshirt. “What can I do to make it better?”

“Nothing. I’m just sore.”

“That’s my fault. I knew I was forcing… I went too hard.” Steve stammered.

“It’s just as much on me as you,” Stark replied. “I overestimated myself. I’m gonna need some down time.” He looked genuinely crushed. And mortified. “Too bad. I was really looking forward to this.”

Rogers was desperate to fix what he thought he’d broken.

“Look… ” he began, unconsciously stroking up and down Stark’s ribs, back, arms. “You could fuck me. Right?”

Stark dubiously lifted an eyebrow.

“Why not?” Steve continued. “Why should I always get to… jump on you? You’re always stuck with the hard part.”

“If I didn't know you better, I'd say you just made a smutty pun.” Tony gave him an impish smile. “I’m not stuck, Rogers. It feels good. I like it.”

“Yeah, but… isn’t it supposed to be a give and take? Don’t you wanna fuck me?”

“Of course. I don’t know a single member of the human species that would turn that down. But it’s not that simple.” Stark didn’t want Steve to feel he was being talked down to. His tone was patient. “You can’t just spring getting fucked on a guy. It's a tricky process. It takes getting used to. Being able to enjoy it is mostly a learned skill. It doesn’t just… happen.”

Steve looked hurt, and Tony tenderly cupped the side of his face. “I appreciate the offer, Steve. Really. But if a guy’s a rookie, and you just storm him with it… it’s hell for him. We’re talking major league pain. Believe me.”

Anger flashed in Rogers’ eyes. “Did someone _storm_ you? Who was it?”

Stark smiled again, running his fingers down Steve’s neck. “I’m fine, Cap. It was a long time ago.” He moved closer, and Rogers took him into his arms.

“You’ll teach me, right? Be my first?” Steve asked softly.

Tony’s face was grave and his eyes were preoccupied. “Not sure. It depends.”

This wasn’t the answer Rogers was expecting, and a chill shot down the back of his neck. “On what?”

Stark rolled onto his back, avoiding Steve’s eyes. “On how long I can stand to let this play out.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve’s apprehension turned to fear.

“C’mon,” Stark said, with a defeated expression, waving his hand between them. “It’s obvious that this won’t work.”

Rogers coiled up on one elbow to look down at Stark, every muscle in his gut clenching. “ _This?_ You and me? Why not?”

“We’re not compatible. Not physically. And long term, probably not emotionally.”

“That’s bullshit, Tony.” Steve fought back panic. “Our… lovemaking… has been _terrific_. You said so yourself. Hell, you came twice! For a man your age…” Then Rogers caught himself.

“Exactly,” Stark said simply, taking no offense. “I’m too damn old for you. I can’t keep up.”

“Yes, you can! You have been! I just need to be gentler. That’s _all_." He collected himself and lowered his tone. “You’re not old. You’re just smaller than me.”

“Okay, I’m too old and too small for you.”

“We just need to use something.” Rogers was practically pleading. “There are all sorts of lubes… I didn’t mean to _injure_ you!”

“You didn’t. This time.” Tony met his eyes. “But chances are, you will. Eventually.”

“Okay, well, all we need is a… what do they call it?” Rogers asked, his expression showing the slightest tinge of relief. “A safe word?”

“I won’t use it.” Now Stark propped himself up, face-to-face with Steve. “I don’t have the self-discipline with you… in the heat of the moment.”

He locked eyes with Rogers, and Steve could tell that Tony was also feeling anguish.

“I’m not saying it’s my fault to make you feel better,” he said sternly. “It _is_ my fault. I don't know my own limits. I did the same thing in London. It took me a week to recover.”

Steve could feel his eyes beginning to fill, and he quickly looked away. “We can make this work, Tony. I know we can.”

“Yeah? Are you sure we should try?”

Stark cupped Steve’s head and turned his face back to meet his eyes. “This has been awesome, Steve. Really. But it’s a fantasy. I need to face reality.”

Rogers began to protest, but Stark waved him off.

“You are a super-specimen. You’re the _perfect man_. I definitely am not.”

“You’re beautiful and you know it, Stark… ” Rogers practically snapped.

“Yeah, for a short, forty-something, sway-backed guy, I’m not bad. But this is the pinnacle. Right now. It’s downhill from here, probably at a pretty fast clip. Your whole life is a pinnacle. You don’t age.”

Stark rubbed his brow in frustration. “How are you gonna feel about me when I’m pushing sixty and you’re still a perfect thirty-four? What are we gonna be, Beauty and the shot-out, old Beast? You won’t want me.”

“Okay, you’re jumping ahead twenty years?” Rogers scoffed. “Isn’t that taking this ‘futurist’ thing to a ludicrous degree?”

Stark shook his head, his face betraying deep, secret misery, and he motioned futilely with one hand, trying to find words. Finally, he blurted, “I’ll fall in love. For _real_.”

Steve looked at him in bemusement. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

Tony gave him an angry look. “And you won’t. Not like me. Then I’ll be annihilated when you leave.”

Rogers’ mind lurched between effrontery and elation. Stark didn’t trust him. Still. But Rogers was already madly in love. And he was sure Stark was, too.

He smiled reassuringly at Tony. “Do I get a say in this?”

Stark scowled. “I’ve been through this before. That playboy crap, that’s mostly a pose. I lose my mind when I _really_ love someone. And Pepper… That was the _worst_. Her leaving was almost the end of me. I can’t go through that again.”

“You won’t.” Steve looked deeply into Stark’s eyes. “We belong together. We’re… ” Rogers knew he would sound ridiculous, but he said it. “… soulmates.”

Tony gave a short, sarcastic laugh. “That’s enchanting, Cap, but it’s wrong.”

He paused and looked away, embarrassed at the candor of what he was about to say.

“You are a forceful, passionate lover. You shouldn’t have to stifle that, not for me. And you’ll end up resenting me for it.” He gave a frustrated sigh. “Your 'soulmate' needs a younger, stronger body.”

“I love your body.” Steve was almost pleading.

Stark shook his head and lay down on his back, looking at the ceiling. “There’s an obvious solution to this. You’ll get mad at me, but... ”

“No, Tony,” Steve said sternly, in his most commanding voice.

Stark glanced over at him. “No what?”

“I don’t want you volunteering for one of those serum programs the military keeps trying to get right. They’re reckless.” He settled on top of Stark and looked into his eyes. “I won’t risk you.”

“Oh, fuck, no,” Tony scoffed. “None of those work. They never have. Even Erskine didn’t really know what he was doing.”

He looked at Rogers apologetically, but stood his ground. “He was a genius, but I’m pretty sure you just caught a lucky break. He totally botched the first guy.”

Steve was puzzled for a second, before remembering Johann Schmidt. He frequently forgot that the Red Skull had been Erskine’s first attempt.

Stark interlaced his fingers with Rogers, and kissed the back of his hand. “You’re the one-and-only masterpiece, Cap.”

Steve’s face softened. “Then what’s your plan?”

Tony hesitated, looking reluctantly at Rogers. “You’ll yell at me.”

Rogers smiled at him indulgently. “I promise not to yell.”

Tony sighed, and Rogers saw him steel himself. Finally, he looked up at Steve and whispered, “Barnes.”

“Don’t talk crazy,” Rogers grumbled. “We don’t even really know what Hydra did to Bucky. And even if we did, there’s no guarantee it would work the same on you.”

He looked into Tony’s face glumly. “And on top of that, he’s miserable. He’d go back to being a normal guy in a heartbeat, if he could.”

“No, moron.” Stark returned his gaze flatly. “You. And Barnes. Together.”

Rogers looked at him in exasperation, but Stark continued. “Barnes is your ‘soulmate’. Not me.”

Steve pushed himself up with both arms, and rolled his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tony… ”

Tony’s expression was a mix of earnestness and heartbreak, and Rogers forgot to finish his thought.

Then Stark smirked. “It’s destiny. Two flawless super-soldiers. Both the same age, from the same era, with almost identical life experiences. One glorious sunlight, the other mysterious shadow… ” His tone was mocking, trying to mask his anguish. Rogers saw right through it.

Stark’s small body looked impossibly vulnerable, curled in the oversized sweatshirt, naked from the waist down, the too-long sleeves covering his hands. Pain filled his dark eyes, but he kept the smile screwed to his face.

“That would be the hottest sex ever. You two could probably fuck for days without once coming up for air. Just go to town on each other and not worry about breaking anything.”

He scrunched up his brow. “Hell, even _I’d_ watch that movie. And no awkward ‘getting acquainted’ crap necessary, since you two are already besties. I can’t compete with that,” he mumbled. “It’s fate.”

Stark closed his eyes and let his face go blank, as if he was simply returning to sleep, not caring.

Rogers was fed up. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Stark didn’t move or open his eyes. “You know I’m right,” he said simply. “And don’t think it’s not killing me to admit it.”

“Okay, you can shut up now,” Steve said sharply. “I’m not interested in Bucky that way, and I’ve told you that before. He’s my friend and that’s it. We will never be lovers.”

“I don’t see why not. He’s pretty damn hot, if you overlook the psychosis.”

“Hey, maybe I should get lost, and you two could get together,” Rogers growled.

“Why are you getting pissed at me?" Tony propped up on one elbow, with a confused look. "I thought I was being uncharacteristically unselfish here. Fuck, he’s even tall… ”

Always insecure, thought Rogers. He drew his arm underneath him, to bring himself face to face with Stark. “I prefer short men.”

“You’re a somewhat unusual individual, Rogers.” Now Stark was sounding irritated. “Don’t you want to be with someone who understands you? Who you have stuff in common with? I thought that would be a good thing!”

“You think that’s all there is to this? Eureka, Tony! Here’s an idea – why don’t you go get with Banner? You have so much in common! You’re both brilliant scientists, inventors; you speak the same geeky language… ”

Rogers threw up his hands in mock enlightenment. “And, hey! You’re both short! And compared to me, the Hulk would probably be gentler in bed!”

“He’d certainly be more attractive,” growled Stark. “You making fun of me now?”

“Yeah. Because you’re demented! And you’re supposed to be the big sex expert. You don’t understand this stuff at _ALL_. I get it better than you, and I was a borderline virgin for ninety years.”

Stark scowled. “What kind of borderline virgin knows how to rim?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what that is.”

“Oh, god. Never mind.”

Rogers sat up in bed. “Look, do you really want to be with me? Or do you just want these extended booty calls every once in awhile? Because we get naked together and have mind-blowing sex, and the next thing I know, you’re in a funk and ruining everything. You seem to just want to get rid of me.”

Stark glared at him. “Exactly the opposite.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Tony gave a resigned sigh. “I feel like I’m corrupting you. Every time you’re with me, I feel like I’m diminishing you.” He looked daggers at Steve. “And, yeah, I know it’s stupid.”

Rogers chuckled ruefully. “What do you call a Madonna-whore complex, when it involves two guys?”

Tony shrugged. “A Rogers-Stark complex?” He shook his head sadly. “Steve, I love you, but I’m not good for you. You know that and so do I.”

“Tony, you’re believing your own bad press.”

“I’ll make you cynical. Find someone better. You can have whoever you want… ”

“Apparently not. Because I’ve made my choice and he’s pushing me away.”

Stark laid back down and curled into a fetal position, and Steve could tell he was making no progress. But he hardened his stance. He refused to give Tony an excuse to run.

“Let me tell you what I know about fate.” He reached down and turned Tony’s face to meet his eyes.

“A long time ago I knew this brilliant, generous, funny guy. He was a really good friend. He changed my life for the better. Then a bunch of impossible things happened and we got separated, and by the time I came to, seventy years had passed and he was dead. And I was all alone in a strange world.

“Then I got recruited to be in this weird superhero organization, and there’s a really hot, sexy, infuriating genius who’s also in this group, and it turns out this guy is the son of that lost friend.

“After seventy years and from halfway around the world, I end up in the exact same place and situation as this guy. And I want him, and he’s into me as well. If that’s not fate, I don’t know what is.”

Stark looked at him longingly for a moment, then turned away. “How will you be able to watch me diminish day after day, year after year… when you’re staying in the prime of your life… and not be full of contempt for me… ”

“That’s kind of insulting, Stark,” Rogers said sharply. “Is that really how you see me? As some shallow human being, who’s only about looks? Are you sure you’re not projecting your own personality onto me?”

Tony squinted at him. “Possibly… but… ”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Did I abandon Peggy? Huh?”

Stark squirmed and remained silent.

“Tony. I loved Peggy. And I stayed true to that love until she died.”

Steve lay down on his stomach, with his head resting on the backs of his hands. He locked his eyes on Stark’s.

“I wasn’t spending all that time with her because I felt obligated, or didn’t want to ruin my goody-goody image, or whatever. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed being around her. Her age didn’t matter. I still loved her.”

Now it was Stark’s turn to look skeptical.

“It’s the truth,” Rogers insisted.

Then he rolled his eyes at Tony. “Okay, if you want to take it there, no, I didn’t want to fuck her. And I seriously doubt she wanted to fuck me. But it didn’t matter. Because it was real love.”

Tony scoffed. “Gimme a break.”

“No, listen! I had plenty of chances to sleep with beautiful girls during that time. Hell, Nat tried to fix me up with one every other day.” Steve’s eyes glistened as he spoke. “But I couldn’t... somehow… until Peggy died. It didn’t feel right.”

“Rogers, you’re too good to be true,” Stark said with exasperation.

“Are you sure this isn’t really about control?”

Stark shot him a suspicious glance, and Rogers smiled slyly.

“I think you’re uncomfortable because you can’t stand it when you’re not calling the shots. You think my being younger gives me the power in this thing. Just like being smart and rich usually gives you the power. And you’re not comfortable without it. Because you don’t trust the people you love to do right by you, unless you can force them to, somehow. With your history, that's understandable.”

Stark was looking at him as if transfixed. He rarely remained silent this long. Bull’s-eye, thought Steve.

“Look, you’re putting the cart so far before the horse, he couldn’t catch up if he was Man o’ War. No one knows the effect Erskine’s serum will have on me, over a lifetime. You could wake up tomorrow, and find nothing but a pile of dust next to you.”

Steve saw Tony chuckle quietly at that.

“And we’re still Avengers. Or, at least, I am, which means I could be killed in battle anytime. There’s no guarantee that I’ll outlive you."

Rogers reached out and pulled Tony closer. “You know what, though? This isn’t supposed to be about who’s in charge, or putting on a show to impress the other person. It’s _supposed_ to be a way to communicate feelings. And really… so far… I feel like the only time you’ve been completely honest with me is when we're in bed.”

“Cap, that is hopelessly old-fashioned.”

“Then I’m proud to be old-fashioned. Because making sex a sporting activity isn’t improving it, as far as I can tell. Take it from Grandpa Rogers."

Steve used his most heartfelt voice. “Can’t you just let it be the way it’s supposed to be? Because… it’s _really_ good. Give us a chance.” He kissed the side of Tony’s head, and then took the smaller man’s face in his hands and looked straight into his eyes. “Trust me.”

Stark tried to maintain his grumpy expression, but his face had lightened. “You’re still too rough,” he grumbled.

“So we’ll fix that.” Steve nuzzled up to Tony’s face. “Because if I wasn’t with you, I wouldn’t be fucking Bucky. I would be pounding away on some poor girl, like Sharon Carter. You wanna be chivalrous and save her from that horror, don’t you?”

He tried to wink at Tony, but with the side of his face against the mattress, all he could manage was a lopsided blink.

Tony snorted. “And you don’t think I’m corrupting you.”

Rogers squirmed and blushed. “Nope. Came up with that myself. Lemme off the pedestal, Stark. It’s too high.”

Stark shrugged and closed his eyes. “Just thought I’d try to save you from wasting a huge chunk of your life.”

“I’ve had two lives so far. The great love of my first one was Peggy. The second… I’d like to spend with you.”

“And I’d like to tell you that’s really hokey,” Tony muttered. “But... it’s probably the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“There’s so much more where that came from.”

“At ease, soldier.” Tony cracked one eye at Steve. “The only thing I can manage right now is about twenty years of sleep.”

“Me, too.”

Rogers was himself quite tired. He shifted up onto his hands and looked down at Tony one more time. Stark looked even smaller than he was, swimming in the too-large sweatshirt, curled up with his eyes closed and his lips parted.

He was beginning a deep, rhythmic breathing, the first sign of sleep, and Rogers marveled again at how suddenly Stark could drop off. Because he’s always exhausted, thought Steve. Mentally and physically. All he has to do is trust his surroundings and close his eyes.

Rogers reached out and scooped the little body in, until Stark’s face was snug against his chest. Tony never stirred, and Steve fell asleep with his arms wrapped around him and his face nestled in messy, dark hair.


	6. Treaty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony reach an agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: smut ahead. Proceed with caution.

Rogers woke a few hours later. It was still dark enough in the suite for undisturbed sleep. The large, two-way mirrored windows in Avengers Tower adjusted the amount of sunlight they let into any occupied room according to the amount of motion detected inside. Still, Steve could tell it was early in the afternoon.

Instantly, he felt his lifelong instinctive panic that the day was slipping away, and there was some mission he wasn’t accomplishing. He took a frantic look around, and relief washed through him as his head cleared and his eyes adjusted.

Tony was fast asleep, in the same position as last night, and Rogers’ heartbeat evened out. Tony was the most competent man on the planet, his subconscious told him. If he was still sleeping, there was nothing important to be done.

Rogers remembered the rest. He was no longer in Wakanda or on a battlefield. He was home. He and Tony had three days. This was their “honeymoon”. They could do whatever they wanted. His anxiety melted away.

He was bone tired and unsteady as he slowly dragged himself out of bed. There was a sour taste in his mouth (curdled Stark?) and he had to urinate badly. He lurched into the bathroom, relieved himself, and brushed his teeth, rinsing his mouth out afterwards with glassfuls of water. He was careful not to wake Stark as he returned to bed, and dozed off immediately.

* * *

Sometime later, from some half-conscious dreamland, he became aware of movement, and peeked out of bleary eyes. He realized Stark was no longer beside him, and heard the padding of feet into the bathroom, as Tony went in and closed the door.

After a long, luxurious stretch, he turned flat onto his back, listening to the sound of running water. The room was bathed in muted light and shadow.

The deep serenity he was experiencing was completely unfamiliar. Suspended between dreaming and awakening, he felt as if he was floating in a cool, starless sky, out of reach of his lifelong torments of isolation, helplessness and creeping guilt. He wished futilely that he could remain in this moment forever, wanting nothing but the hush of the room and the comfort of Tony’s proximity.

Were they lovers now? Had they reached that agreement last night? (This morning?) How wonderful it would be to have Tony’s body whenever he wanted it. To feel like Stark was his.

He had never genuinely felt that way with another human being. He and Peggy probably would’ve gotten there, but she was a memory now. A memory becoming more distant every day, what with the intensity of this new love.

His fuzzy mind pictured Tony standing at the sink, in his big, blue, pilfered sweatshirt, with his naked behind peeking out from under, and his bare legs and feet chilly after the warmth of the bed. His half hard cock tented the sheets and he rolled his hips languidly, causing a pleasant friction against the sensitive tip. Tony was still sore, of course, so he froze the tantalizing image in his mind, and pushed his imagination no further.

He was minutes away from sliding back into half-formed dreams when he heard Tony open the door and switch off the light. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

Stark drifted around the dim room for a minute, arms crossed, thinking. Then he went to the window opposite the bed, with its panoramic view of the city, and stood in front of it, looking out. His hands were braced against the glass, and the soft, filtered light outlined his form, in sharp silhouette.

Tony Stark did not have the classic, v-shaped male body. His well-defined shoulders were only marginally wider than his torso, and his pecs were sinewy and flat, rather than protruding. His figure nipped in only slightly at the waist and then flared out at his hips and ass, which were unusually well-defined and muscular. It made him appear curvy, rather than angular. Steve covertly drank in the sight.

It was not a rare body type. Rogers had seen it plenty of times in the army, and in those days, he had felt deep, secret shame that he found it weirdly erotic. It was even sexier to him now, since it was Tony’s body type, though he knew Stark himself thought it unattractive. 

This habit Tony had, of grabbing for the nearest shirt and throwing it on as soon as possible, was a recent development. Rogers had found plenty of photos of Stark in his younger days, and he had had no trouble with shirtlessness then. His reluctance seemed to have taken root around the time the Avengers first formed, and Steve guessed that being around his teammates, all younger men who possessed the ideal, v-shaped physique, had made Stark feel less than desirable.

That idea had always triggered Rogers’ protective instinct, even when he and Stark had been adversaries, because he well understood this feeling from experience, and because it was totally unwarranted in this case, because his Tony was beautiful.

Stark stared at the view for a few minutes, then turned back toward the bed. Rogers' first impulse was to turn away and hide his erection, but a totally newfound self-confidence had come over him since he and Stark had had their heart-to-heart.

To hell with it, Rogers thought. It just means I want him. He’s already figured that out.

Tony stood at the foot of the bed, the sweatshirt slipping down his shoulders and now covering him to mid-thigh, the sleeves hiding his hands. The tenting of the sheet from Rogers’ erection was clearly visible, and Steve smirked. He was glad that his deep blush would not be detectable in the dim light.

“Guess who I’ve been thinking of,” he murmured under his breath, probably too quietly for Stark to hear.

Tony climbed onto the foot of the bed. He shifted his full weight onto his knees, and slowly pulled down the sheets, uncovering Steve’s perfect physique gradually, like he was unwrapping a much-anticipated gift. Steve’s smooth skin glowed soft gold in the shadowy room, as first his chest, then his defined abs, then his erection, were exposed. The caress of the silk sheets slipping over his cockhead gave Steve a delicious thrill, and he looked up at Stark questioningly, because he knew Tony was probably still sore, but surely he wasn’t just _teasing_ Steve now…

Stark dropped the sheets onto Steve’s legs, and looked directly into Rogers’ face with an open, trusting expression. His eyes and pupils were enormous in the dark, like oversized black pearls. Rogers knew Stark used those large eyes as weapons. He would look guilelessly into his victim’s face like he was opening the gates to his soul, and he would usually get whatever he wanted. Steve himself had fallen prey to those eyes often, and had learned that most times, that look meant absolutely nothing, and those gates led nowhere. It was obvious that wasn’t the case now.

Stark walked forward on his knees, until he was directly over Rogers’ erection. He pulled the sweatshirt up slightly, exposing his groin and the round curve of his hips. Steve’s eyes followed the vertical ridges of Stark’s lower abdomen, down the dark little trail of pubic hair, to Stark’s own hard cock. The beauty of the sight stole Steve’s breath, and his heart raced faster in anticipation.

Tony’s thighs flexed as he began to sink slowly down, toward Steve’s cock. Rogers’ fists clutched into the mattress, battling the urge to grab the small body violently. He locked eyes with Stark, as Tony sunk slowly, slowly… until Steve could practically feel the heat of Tony’s body on his cockhead…

And then Tony was actually _there_ , holding completely still. His warm hole, slick with fresh lube that had just been applied, touched the tip of Steve’s cock and paused, as he braced himself. Steve felt the tight opening against the slit of his cock, and fought desperately not to climax just from that sensation.

Tony reached behind and lifted one of his asscheeks to open himself wider. He stared into Steve’s eyes, and took a deep, slow breath. Then, it was as if his ass bloomed open as his hole parted, and he sank all the way down onto Rogers, sheathing Steve’s steel-hard cock inside. Then his legs relaxed under him, and his entire weight was fully impaled on Rogers’ huge erection.

He squirmed in pain, grimacing with effort. His gluts and abs flexed involuntarily, causing his silky channel to clench hard, in spasms. The sensation was exquisite around Steve’s cock, and he struggled fiercely for control, not wanting to strain Tony’s small body further. His eyes were locked on Stark’s, and he saw the exact moment Tony finally willed himself to relax and accept the entire length.

He sat on Steve with his full weight, trembling, trying to slow his breathing. His head hung, and Steve could feel sweat form on the insides of his thighs. He savored the different textures of Stark’s body against the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen – the warm, round weight of Tony’s balls; the smooth, hairless taint; the tight, wet ring of Tony’s hole stretched around the base of his cock. Rogers exhaled slowly, and moved his hands to rest gently on the curves of Stark’s hips.

“My Tony… ” he breathed.

Stark looked up. He had lost his erection, as Rogers had noticed usually happened right after penetration. He took another cleansing breath.

“You don’t have to… ” Steve’s tone was concerned.

Stark stared into his eyes, giving no vocal response. He took his own cock in his hand and drew his knees back under him, causing his hole to move maybe an inch back up Rogers’ long pole. Then he arched his back, sinking his hole all the way back down against Steve’s body. It was the tiniest movement, but it caused an electric thrill deep in Rogers’ groin, and he squeezed Stark’s hips in his hands.

“That’s so _good_ … ” he mouthed, holding Stark’s gaze.

Stark drew his calves under his thighs and pushed himself halfway up Rogers’ erection, then slowly settled again. He took a careful pull on his now half-hard cock, and deliberately squeezed his asscheeks together, staring back into Rogers’ eyes.

Steve gave him a tender smile. “Mmmm,” he purred.

Stark began to rise cautiously up and down, opening his hole, trying to encourage it to relax. Steve studied his face carefully, and held stock-still.

He guessed that Tony was trying to place a layer of pleasure over the soreness inside his little tunnel, and he wasn’t going to interfere in any way. He _wanted_ this, however Stark could supply it, and he was engrossed in Tony’s face. He could almost feel Stark's pain in his own rectum, so intensely was he watching Tony’s expressions.

He again felt the sensation he had first experienced in London, when he had lost track of where Stark’s body ended and his began. A hot tingling, like the touch of a thousand tiny fingertips, ignited his skin.

Tony looked down into his face, his eyes and expression open. Trusting.

“Can we take this off?” Steve whispered, crumpling the hem of the sweatshirt in his fists. He pushed it up Stark’s chest, and Tony shifted hesitantly, but allowed him to continue. Then he lifted his arms so Rogers could peel it over his head, and watched as Steve tossed it across the room.

“Better,” Rogers murmured. He drank in Stark’s defined chest and abdomen.

“So beautiful… ” he breathed. He reached up to lightly touch Stark’s nipples. Tony recoiled in surprise, and drew in a sharp breath. Steve quickly pulled his hands back in a gesture of surrender.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Just tickled,” Tony chuckled, with a reassuring smile.

He leaned forward into Rogers’ open hands, and rested his pecs against them, rubbing both nipples gently into the flats of Steve’s palms. Rogers caressed his chest gently. He was grinding his cock in tiny twists up into Stark’s open hole, causing slight currents of pleasure to radiate from the root of his erection.

Stark was moving faster now, rhythmically impaling himself on Steve’s cock, driving it deep inside, enjoying being fucked again. His eyes were tightened into a squint, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact with Steve, stroking his own cock hard, bringing himself back to full arousal.

Sweat was running down his chest, over his abs, trickling down his back and into his asscrack. Both of Rogers’ hands were full of Stark asscheek, and he squeezed and grasped possessively, leaving finger marks.

“Let me help you with that,” he murmured, releasing one cheek and closing his hand over Stark’s stroking fist, squeezing it harder around Tony’s cock, stroking fiercely.

“Shit, Cap… ” Tony gasped, swiveling on Steve’s cock heedlessly, his fathomless eyes now blank, uncaring, as he fought for climax.

Rogers jerked Tony’s fist up and down, rubbing the pad of his thumb in a circular motion around Stark’s cockhead, and into the slit, on the upstroke, as Stark had done to him before. He raised his shoulders and head off the bed to look into Tony’s sweating face. He himself was sheened in perspiration as he thrust up hard into Stark.

Tony drove downward, burying Steve’s steel-hard cock deep inside tight, creamy silk, and then pulling all the way out, over and over. His slick anal ring opened and closed, like a little sucking mouth, and Rogers saw his neck muscles clench.

He felt Stark’s whole body stutter and contract, and Tony’s delirious face hovered over his, his hard panting warm against Steve’s mouth. His lips parted, and his tongue flicked out and licked Steve’s lower lip, then pressed hard into Steve’s mouth and against his teeth, in a sloppy, aggressive kiss.

Steve returned it hungrily, and then Stark withdrew his tongue and opened his eyes. His mouth rested against Steve’s, so close Rogers could feel Stark’s eyelashes brush against his cheek.

Steve bared his teeth, and Tony pulled his head back and smirked down at him, almost triumphantly.

“You sexy little fuckerrr… ” Rogers growled, with a wicked smile, and Tony’s eyes rolled back as he came. _Hard._

“Shit, Steve, shit, shit, shit, nnnnnggg… !” he ground out, through clenched teeth.

Rogers felt Stark’s cock pulse in both their fists, as he shot jets of warm cum across Steve’s chest, his hole clenching like a vice around Steve’s cock.

Steve took two last, hard thrusts into the clutching channel and came, feeling his cream spurt into Tony, lubing his buried cock, making his strokes slick and deep.

Waves of piercing pleasure swept over him, shooting up and down his cock and radiating outward, reaching into the base of his ball sac and down his taint, triggering a delicious tingling in his rectum and tailbone.

Sparks ignited in his field of vision, and then faded, to reveal Tony’s soft, exhausted eyes.

“Christ, Tony… _fuck_ ,” he exhaled.

He captured the small body in both arms, gathering Stark into a ball, and rolled him over, clambering on top.

He continued to thrust into Tony, with short, fast strokes, until the radiating pleasure dissipated and he was wrung dry. It could’ve taken seconds or hours.

Then he collapsed on Stark, completely spent.

* * *

A lifetime later, he became aware of his own hand, running through dark, damp hair.

Stark was buried under him, breathing evenly. When Steve raised his head to look down at him, his eyes were closed and his expression was relaxed and peaceful.

He shifted himself down to free Stark’s head from underneath his chest, and lowered his face into the curve of Tony’s neck.

“You awake?” he whispered, too softly to wake a sleeping man.

“Yeah,” Stark breathed.

“Okay?”

“Sure. You?”

“Me? I’m fantastic.” He looked up and met Stark’s bleary eyes, and gave him a radiant smile. Stark smiled back, wryly.

Steve rolled them both over onto their sides.

“How’s your neck?” He touched the back of Tony’s neck with his fingers.

“Good.” Stark nestled against Steve’s chest. “Along with the rest of me.”

Steve put both arms around him.

“That was amazing.” He kissed the top of Stark’s head, and sighed heavily. “How can you want to give all this up?”

“I don’t.”

“What about us not being compatible?” Rogers needled.

“Fuck that.”

The leaden weight in Steve’s heart vanished. “Good,” he said.

“But you better not end up hating me,” Stark grumbled. “Because next time… I won’t be so _easy_.”

“You’ve been _easy?_ ” Rogers snorted. He cupped Stark’s face in his hand and turned it up to meet his eyes. “Didn’t notice that. Guess I’ve been preoccupied.”

“Yeah, well… ”

“I could never hate you, Tony,” Steve told him, in his most sincere tone. “Even when I hated you, I didn’t hate you.”

Then he yawned and stretched, sinking down into the bed, anticipating a long, peaceful sleep.

“But now that we can do _this_ , how will I ever get anything else done?” he teased.

“With some difficulty, I guess. Same as me.” Stark edged over and rested his head on Steve's chest. “I do hope you realize that, for the better part of a year, I’ve worked on nothing else but getting you here in this bed.” Tony’s eyes pleaded for acknowledgement. There was no sarcasm or mockery in them.

Steve lifted his head and beamed at Stark. “And I hope you realize how much I appreciate it. I’m gonna make it worth your while.”

Tony’s eyes instantly relented. “Don’t sweat it, Cap. I wanted it as much as you.”

Rogers settled back down, gathering Stark in his arms and pulling him on top. He ran his fingers lightly up and down Tony’s smooth back.

Steve had always sought peace, but peace did not sit easily on him. He waged war. That was his primary purpose. And he felt rudderless without it. It had become a habit for him to grope around in his psyche for something to feel uneasy about. It kept him constantly alert and anxious. “Sharpened” him, he told himself.

But now, right now… he found nothing there. Nothing on his horizon but clear skies. And the excitement of a new beginning.

He could remember only one other time in his life when he had felt this blissful, and that was the first time he had been with Stark, in England. The two happiest times of his life had been with Tony. Had been _because_ of Tony.

“So this is heaven,” he said, cradling Stark. Then he lifted his head, and gasped in mock surprise. “Hey! Who let Tony Stark in?”

Stark snorted. “Give it up, Cap. Your jokes suck.”

“Oh, c’mon. I’m getting better.” Rogers chuckled. “Me… _and_ my giant face.”

“Christ,” Stark mumbled. “How long am I gonna be hearing that one?”

“Probably about as long as I heard ‘Language!’ ” Steve replied. He ran his fingers along Tony’s face, and gave him a soft kiss. “I’ll keep it between the two of us,” he added gently.

He reached down and pulled the sheets over them, and they both settled deep in each other’s arms. Tony dropped off as soon as he shut his eyes.

Steve lay awake for a short time, looking through the window out onto the city and to the horizon beyond. Through the shaded glass, he could tell the sun was about to set. They had spent almost the whole day in bed together, and night was about to fall. For the first time since Erskine’s pod, he had lost track of time. And it didn’t matter.

The guilt he usually felt over wasted daylight, the urgency of passing time without action, was gone. He was at peace. _Unheard of._

Glancing at the sleeping form curled beside him, he marveled drowsily at the power of love. All those poems, songs, stories, paintings – he understood now.

“I’m _still_ gonna draw you,” he whispered into Stark’s unconscious ear.

Then he kissed the side of Tony’s face, and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. Thanks for reading!


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